with the quiet damp night above us you moved your attention from the flicking street lamp to the click of my lighter and though you had known me for years you were seeing me for the first time you imagined something sentimental written on my cigarette as i inhaled and our conversation wrapped itself up in a farewell hug, as you spoke: 'you don't look like a smoker' 'what does a smoker look like?' 'not you' then you walked away the only thing i noticed was that you didn't look back