"Can I get a light?"
and a withered, ***** hand reaches out.
She leans in, inhales, and spark.
Here in this moment,
there is intimacy.

This a moment of trust,
as she leans toward a stranger
and a flame in his hand.
Their eyes never meet,
their flesh does not touch...
and yet here in this moment,
there is intimacy.

There is nothing quite like the sight,
of a beautiful girl,
bright eyes, smooth features--
leaning against a wall,
welcoming slow death into her lungs .

Her cheeks are flushed from the cold,
her chin tilts upward
as she bites the smoke,
savoring it's sweetness.

There is nothing quite like the sight
of the smoke dancing around her,
as she exhales that death into the world
slowly, gracefully through soft lips

Where did we get lost?
When did this moment of intimacy grow so deadly?
When our young get lost in the smoke,
blinking fast, stinging eyes, they cry themselves to sleep.
Unaware that the smoke that hurts so much,
is from their own hands.