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