If I had to name three things I couldn't live without, I guess those would be the things. But it’s not an addiction, per say. I only like cigarettes when your callused fingers offer them to me, your wordless expression showing concern and contentess. I blow away our pain and worries and pass it on for later, thinking I’ll make some coffee again today. For both of us like I usually do. Coconut milk in yours and creamer in mine, right?
My toes are suddenly cold I dip them in these tender aqua waters, juxtaposing itself with the Tampa humidity that laces my cup. I can't tell if you resting your arms around my waist brings a fire within me or if it gives me chills. I start swaying to some synonymous tune that happens to play in both of our heads at this moment, even though the only music is the wind whistling through the shells and stems of the palm leaves.
My lips are, coffee and cigarette and you stained. The painful heat always disrupts this heavenly time for us.
So we’ll meet here, same time tomorrow. I wouldn't want to live without it.
Pale-faced beneath twilight’s awning, shadowed time skips A beat measured in dust motes and attic silence;
Frameless ether holds its breath and portrait likenesses Swivel eyes right, suspended between the minute and the hour;
In sequence, Whittington’s chiming sepia tones wring out A tulip of port and one last cigar from drapery long hung;
As floral meanders unwind from a walnut casing Inlayed with the gamine whimsies of our cherried youth.
‘At the beginning of time the clock struck one Then dropped the dew and the clock struck two From the dew grew a tree and the clock struck three The tree made a door and the clock struck four Man came alive and the clock struck five Count not, waste not the years on the clock Behold I stand at the door and knock.‘ - Eric Lomax
Oh my. What a cruel world Lots of people suffer They couldn't fathom the reality I breathe out the smoke in my lungs "Oh yes, a cruel world it is" I voiced out my thoughts As I looked at the dead body lying beside me
Of all the fun I've ever had Almost all I've never told you From getting tattoos To house parties with my crew Almost all I've never told you Seeing rappers you hate Spending more than I earn Staying out till the suns back up kinda late Crashing at boys houses and talking to their mom While smoking cigars and sharing more than lip balm My friends knowing all the stories I've never told you But you never knew, never found out about The times I don't want to forget You don't know about them yet And my only regret out of all of it Is that I can't tell you one bit
The smoke licks my fingertips as I light the cigar a fix of nicotine on a bad day a way to keep the bad thoughts at bay A long pull fills my mouth with a bitter taste of artificial grape A low for me I guess you could call it A hypocrite I guess you could call me
Outside the cigar shop is an elderly man he is leaning against a parking meter fumbling the quarters he pulls from his deep pockets and dropping them into the machine the metal clinking as it accepts the change and only reading 20 minutes the old man scowls at the meter and puts in more coins until it reads 1 hour he digs around in his pockets and turns them inside out he has no more grumbling to himself, he pushes away from the meter entering the cigar shop and I'm left sitting in my car wondering how we can spare some change for more time for the things that will lessen the time we already have