Last night, he waited at the end of my street in his red pick up
while I snuck out of the back door in my shorts and a hoodie.

We drove around and talked music for hours
and between the exchange of our words
we exchanged a perfectly rolled blunt.

Somehow we ended up back at his place
on the back porch with a cigarette in one hand and my fingers intertwined with his in the other.

At some point his extremities began to graze my leg
slowly moving up towards the inside of my thigh.

And how I wanted so badly to give into his touch
But all I could offer was a kiss
that tasted of desperation and nicotine.

When all that was left of his cigarette was the cherry at the end of its filter,
he asked if he could leave his mark on me.

And with the nod of my head, he put the small roll of tobacco out
on the same place where his fingertips fluttered over just minutes before.

With his brand on my inner thigh and my tongue in his mouth,
I felt extraordinary lust and helplessness in the pit of my stomach.