Cigarette smoke lapped at
my finger tips
late in the wee hours of the morning
when, without warning
you walked by at the front
of a small herd
of just ex-high schoolers.
The dark kept your face hidden
and I hope mine as well
because after you passed
an amigo pipped,
"Wasn't that your old girlfriend?"
I chain smoked the last three
hardly believing
that moment was the first
glance I'd had of you in a
year.