I remember the last cigarette you inhaled,
the flame flickering hither and thither,
whilst you stood against the metal railing
of that aging stone balcony.
I remember how lovely you looked,
in your blackest, black robe.
That's all you were wearing, but the secrets of your skin we're still invested
in the foremost thoughts of my mind.
You were a mystery,
even to yourself.
Like smoke,
you remind me,
of something unattainable;
a beauty of sorts explainable.
Your last cigarette,
something that cannot be repeated.
You remind me
of your last cigarette.