You’re not a smoker,
You may buy packs of cigarettes
And even own a few lighters, but your
Lips do not curl the way smoker’s lips do

You do not **** in the smoke with a death wish
Nor do you enjoy the thick air slowly threading
It’s way through your lungs.

You might find yourself holding one like a smoker
But you do not have ash stained fingernails;
You do not cough like a smoker
You do not inhale nor do you need one more
After you finished your last one.

You’re not a smoker,
You’re fingers do not lack hope
They are not broken or fading away
They are not yellow and they are
Definitely not grey.

They seem to be alive,
Very much alive.