It's a one-hundred and eleven
yard walk to the gas station
for a fresh pack of Spirits and
a new lighter. Black this time.

I'm about fifteen miles away
from you in the literal sense
and separated from you for
roughly two months in mind.

People talk about my cigarettes
because they claim to be free
of fillers and additives. Sure.

I think the package is pretty
and they feel nice on my lips.

They burn pretty **** long
and they give me a hell of a buzz
but once I'm down to the filter,
I still have to move to a new one.