Twin rivers of sweat
trickling from my armpits,
tickling down my sides
and a quaver in my voice,
dying for a cigarette,
a script, a wish, or that
I’d rehearsed more.
Twin rivers of sweat
trickling from my armpits,
tickling down my sides
and a quaver in my voice,
dying for a cigarette,
a script, a wish, or that
I’d rehearsed more.