It was always natural for him
To smell like cigarettes
Even though I was pretty sure
That he had never touched one directly
In all his years of living and lusting.
But who am I to judge,
The local Laura Palmer
Who thinks with ambition
That she has the world by the entrails?
Sweat dripping, anger sipping
Wine out of her clavicle cavity,
She and I are a beast,
A torrential force to be reckoned with
Though I cower.
So bravely, so tenderly,
I cower so as not to ruin
The pleading ferocity
Of cigarette boy,
His hand pressed
Firmly against the curve of my hip.
Cigarette boy pulled me from my cowering the other night,
Took his own hand off my hip
And whispered to me
That I was as big as I wanted to be
And I could over power the earth
With my love and care.
These are the things I love him to say
Between the drags I take off him.