She preferred to take her smoke
break in the bathroom facing
the mirror, losing herself
with each deep breath on the
soapstreak glass.
The single was her
speakeasy, her dressing room,
her long, French cigarette parting
her lips to keep her lipstick from
gluing them shut. She pulled on the
paper towel lever for a temp lover
to kiss until her lips stopped bleeding
Revlon. And the tissue lay balled up
in the trash
having only known her tar love
for a few moments.