"enough to make the angels weep,"
you sigh through the ash.

“you still believe in angels?”

“nah." we glow red from this rooftop
sparks melt into the milky way.
"but i might believe in handsome devils.”

i roll my eyes and punch your arm
you smile, crooked as the moon.
the ember of your cigarette flares
a chameleon to the skyline.

at last we can
blame our tears on the smoke.