the ash builds on the end of a roach,
a tiny gray stalactite,
swaying every time she laughs
she sits across, rolling another one-
singing, its okay to be like this
sometimes she spoils me,
sometimes i spoil her,
but tonight the room spoils us,
exhaling gold around her shoulders
the walls melt into soft breathing,
the air thick from body heat,
warm honey
she moves easier than i do,
as if gravity curls itself at her feet
i light the roach again-
exorcising one last bit of soul
smoke pours out like a spirit escaping,
sliding into the quiet between us
her tongue runs the seam of the wrap,
whispering secrets into leaf and paper
her fingers glide, press, drag-
tobacco stains never truly fade
in one flawless motion, she scoops the lighter
and giggles,
a sound rippling through the glass,
shaking the starlight outside
she can see my awe, barely hidden
this is how the pros do it, she says
the smoke crowns her, halos her
a crooked saint
my eyes drift between her and the night sky,
gathering outside the windows,
where the stars stretch themselves awake,
shimmering like shattered glass in god's pocket
i stare, i smile-
the two of them blur together,
her and the cosmos,
constellations unfolding in real time
i wonder how long its been
since the stars were near each other