You stand there
performing the act of grace
simply by poisoning yourself
with cigarettes.
Often
I have watched your fingers
as they roll over paper and tobacco.
I still reach for your hands as if yours wish to encompass my yearning fingers,
pulling away before we touch in fear
that you will reject my love.
I despise the way in which I fall in love
so completely and utterly
with different parts of you.
Every time we lock eyes,
I can not drink you in long enough;
my lungs failing me
before I can capture you.
Take me from the room of alcohol
and sweat
in to the world that is your arms
where I would stay for hours
terrified to leave your embrace again.