The cigarette hanging precariously
on the edge of that mouth. 
Those pursed lips exhaling smoke
and pouring my bedroom 
with the sick sweet smell of marijuana. 
Playing a body contortionist, eyes closed
to the beats of my favorite song. 
Dancing the last dance. 
And that wicked grin
playing no wicked games. 

Between wistful delirious visions of you
and the present unambiguous with your
absence,
sanity beckons.
And so I wait for your face to slowly
dissipate like the smoke
from your lit joint.