Sheesha-NaPoWriMo6

We call it
Hookah
Back home
(Wherever that is).
Sometimes I think
My wild, wild youth
Is tied up in stories
Of the hookah
In my room.
Smoke makes
My eyes sore
And my head hurt
But Sheesha smoke
Curls seductively
Down my veins
With a sweetish tang.
And the pain
Is worth
The payoff.
Sheesha thrums
In gentle hums
Around my head.
And watercolours
The world
In shades
Of BLOODY AWESOME.
I swear I could fly!
Let's get chinese!
Hey Emma, you ok?!
Woah, standing sober
Is challenging!
Yes, I think Chinese
Sounds great about now.
Yes, Sheesha
Recalls my
Wild youth
If youth
Is walking down London streeets
Wanting to fly.
It is.