It looked like something the cool kids did.

Forbidden smoke floating majestically,

from swaying bushes edge.


Dusty pub carpets and the blonde boys hair.

I knew I wanted to try.

I had to inhale deeply.


It would feel soft and fragile.

Delicately balanced heat.

Sticky from our lipgloss.


Breath defined it.

Rising chests followed by,

euphoric sighs.


The taste made cringes of discomfort.

Tongue abhorred the feeling of that fire.

Taste soon becoming necessary and adored.


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