last smoke

i couldn’t tell
if it was the
setting sun or
the cherry flaring
on the cigarette
between her lips
i was lost in
the haze as i hung
on her every word
she could never
understand how
each syllable
spilled out in a
symphony of hues
how it pulled me
from my myopia
tethered me when
i was free floating
in the turbulence
of another flight
nose first into
the mountains i
gleefully made out
of the molehills
i never noticed
with my head in
the accumulation
of wispy cumuli
but she had gone
so long without
saying anything at
all she found no
reason to break her
enforced silence
and i can’t tell
if it is the sun
flaring in sullen
shades of orange
or the cherry as
it crackles and i
long for her to
exhale into my eager
mouth and fill my
raisin lungs with
a hint of perfection


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