June 14, 2002


by Inasa J. Carter

I go outside... I need to see him. But he's not there. And desire creeps in heavy, weighted. I smoke in desperation, wasting and hungry for a glimpse, a glance. A flicker between us. Eye candy becomes a solid, scraping addiction... something I must have, even if for a second. The last smack, one line, one drag, one tiny sip of presence before me... I think about the things I'd say if I had to say something, which I don't, because he knows as well as I that there's nothing between here and there. Just a glance, the density of the moment always hangs between us like the thick and shimmering icicle just about to snap.

Inasa J. Carter is a writer from New York City.

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