as i am putting on my coat i am looking outside at the
desolate winter night scene:
the day-old snow has blended with dirt and
the street lights are making the road
glow somberly in yellow

and then i see him there
on the bench
his collar up around his neck
the smoke from his cigarette creeping up
around his fingers

i walk to his shadowy silhouette as i light myself
a cigarette, too, so it seems as though
we're out here for the same reason

we make small talk, our eyes wandering
nervously since we haven't
shared a bed in awhile and our last fight
sits unsettled and undiscussed

i am puffing hungrily and i can't recall
the last time i smoked like this but
something about him sitting there is
making me anxious, making me miss him
although he is three feet away

"smoking yet?" he says,
hopeful that i may, too, be an addict

"only in moderation," i say,
"not that you'd know anything about that."

02/09/2007

Posted on 02/10/2007
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