The thought of you
floods my senses, smells of an old cigarette.
You would never quit smoking; saying you had, you tried to convince me.
Together, us, we felt it in our lips-
the magic, the burn of tar that
helped bring from you those words.
Meaningless words
that tried so hard to speak for you.
Saying what? That you loved me? That
is such a cliché’, taking another drag of cigarette.
Words dripped from your dry lips
saying me, forever always me.
For me those words kept coming
limp words
falling, suicide from lying lips,
scrambling away from you.
Smoke filled lungs, the cigarette
stood, poised, oblivious to it all that.
Infamous that,
to describe what was you and me.
Always burning, that cigarette,
burning in flames and nicotine the words
which mattered to me, not you.
Closing, opening, pursing lips.
I tried saying the words
blocked by your cigarette,
burning them from me.