It was mid-february when I asked
to put a cigarette out on your neck.
In July, I stopped asking,
and started doing.
A fiend waiting for a fix,
I took hit after hit until I inhaled
every last bit of you,
careful not to miss a breath.
It is mid-February again
as I sort out the rainbow pills
into kaleidescope patterns
on my bathroom floor; carefully counting
the ways I loved you.