Lying on my back, with mackin’ on my lap, staring at the crackin’ in the ceiling. Waiting for the word to come down. It could be days before the drought is over. I wish i could go sit and smoke a blizz with you in the meantime. In between transmissions from the Lord i think you could help me clear my mind. You would go so good with a puff and a pass. I’m finna forfeit my lent vows to get you hotboxed, and perhaps relapse after 60 days sober.
I’d love to try to change your mind. but the herb don’t change the mind no way. It can only more or less fuel the illusion that the tension is broken between us. Let this plant ease you from feeling you gotta ward off my manhood; and let it stop me from fearin’ your power to choose. You can read my palms, and sense that my touch carries both his mess and her caress. My air forces repressed muscle memory into your hips and you are torn between a shudder and a sigh of relief. The both of us, caught between a fear and a fetish; an attraction and an addiction, cannot deny it any longer. I wanna smoke with you, you wanna smoke with me.
“if i could slow you down sometime, i’d love to try to change your mind.”
