She turns each page
Slow
Like smoke rising from
An old flame
It is a borrowed book,
Every word she wishes were her own
It is quiet
The only sound
her fingers on the page
Every word. Every page
Turning so slow
She is reading by the light of fireflies
Seeing what she wants
Flashes like matches quickly burning out
Slow, like the smoke rising,
She turns each page
Story unfinished

Another of his cigarettes burns out.
He ignites again.
As if he is helping
As if the burning
Smoking
Burning
Are what she wants
The Book
The Words
They should be the fire
not
His
lips