Well past mindight, I sit

the dim yellow glow

of porch light for company

and watch my cigarette

smoke curl around me

only to drift off

the ash burns down

between my fingers

it feels good

in my hand

comforting

in the other

the last bottled beer

icy cold

burning my palm

I endure it, knowing

eventually, the tender

skin will numb

I grip it tighter

bring the long neck

to my lips, swallow

bitterness soothing

a cool breeze smoothes

my hair from my face

brushes my cheek

like you used to

I lift my face

into the caress

I close my eyes

try to think of anything

my numbing palm

the smell of smoke

the cricket string quartet

playing to all the silent houses

anything,

but the softness

found in that touch.

09/23/2002

Posted on 09/24/2002
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