The girl at the train station

It was pretty late
In the evening
Or may be early morning
I was back
From a smoking night
Alcohol poisoning
Began
And there I stood
Waiting the freakin’ train
She was a beauty
But the kind that’s hidden
She was waiting for another train
I realized I still had a joint
From last night’s stand
So I jumped into the rails
I must had broken my head
Cause there was kind of a bleeding
Invading my dark hair
So I continued my mission
And I went all the way to her
I asked her for a lighter
And she got me some matches
‘Damn
That’s the best way to light a joint.. ‘
I don’t remember much
Must be the green grass
Or maybe the headache
But we talked
around a smoke
About poetry and love
About life and false-hopes
She knew about Bukowski, Thoreau, Henson and more
I could feel her soul
Coming out of her chest
With every word
Her lips waved
We made love
With words
All this mixture
As she bent
The orgasm of all forgotten literature
Had lieu in that station bench.
And I remember
Watching her body fade
As the joint
over the ground
Kind of unfinished
Rolled

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