If I had to guess
I'd taste like hot tea and cigarettes--
bittersweet and grey
with a menthol burst.
I'm a coughing fit
at 4am, when you're too cold
to sleep and lonely again.

If I had the guts to guess,
I'm the itch in your solar plexus
just south of your heart
and insignificant,
until the arctic wind sweeps
the breath from lungs
in a hazy puff of body heat.

It sounds terrible,
cancerous , at best,
but if you asked me to guess
(since you'll never let me know)
I'd bet your kiss, too,
tastes like hot tea and cigarettes
in the middle of the night.