I want to be the cigarette
   between your lips,
   to when you would always decide
   whether to light me,
   take in my smoke,
   and let me singe scathingly your lungs,
   as you stare on my embers,
   entranced on my flicker,
   watching me dwindle
   with the haze growing
   more drunk of the evening dank;

Or keep me cold
   and suffer the grim hankering
   for my tepid nicotine
   to be your oxygen;
   for the comforting reek I leave on your collar;
   the bitter aftertaste, in your mouth.

And then rustle in sobs to the placid moon,
   "Let him **** me;
   He is all I want."