pete one more hit, the smoke rises and fills the air, our skin breathes in the toxins as we sigh and sink into the floor, not wanting to move, or open the door to let the smoke out.

we strip slowly, one article at a time, as the steam mixes with the smoke, bathing us in perfection, stripping away inhibitions, and letting life live itself while our minds play in the jungle of the stars.

another hit, and more smoke joins, the bag's still full, but we're well baked past understanding or thought.
what's it to you?
who go