You were a silhouette made of the finest blood and bones.
The way you slouch your shoulders
Like you’re too discomfited to show your own figure.
Meticulous in the way you pull tobacco from the pouch
You place it in the paper, and lick it shut.
The cigarette is gripped softly by your extended fingers,
Slowly drifting up to your lips.
You held it so closely,
Caressing it with delicate fingertips
And raising it to your mouth with such poise.
You walked outside,

Light.
Inhale.

You smoked your cigarette
With grace and charm-
Almost sexually, in fact, as if you knew I was watching.
You didn’t.
Before stomping it out,
You looked through the window. Seeing me, just barely seeing you
So much so you made my own lungs hurt.