In front of the bar
a thin guy in an oil-stained t-shirt
pulled out a pack of cheap cigarettes
from his front jeans pocket.
"You got a light, buddy?"
I pulled out my black Zippo.
He turned his pack upside down
and a single gold coin fell into his palm
along with a half-smoked cigarette.
"What's with the coin?"
"I always carry it," he said.
"If I drop dead,
I want the ******* who finds me
to have a good day."

Your name,
like the sweet, stinging aroma
of a half-burnt cigarette,
always seems to
                               linger.

Creeping
into
the backs of my brain

A reminder of
                          
                           blissful temptation.

- k.m.

he took a drag
of his cigarette
inhaling the truth
exhaling the lies
smoking the answers
she wanted to hear

this cigarette that I press against my lips, will do way less damage to me than you ever did.
the taste will reside in my mouth momentarily, but it will vanish unlike your cherry chapstick that I'm trying to forget.
smoke clouds swirl around me before the wind blows it all away— reminds me of the lingering memories of you I can't help but to replay.
I might have a smokers cough someday, that's still better than enduring constant heartbreak.
the pack in my back pocket is the only sense of relief I get from the agonizing daydreams, I still see how your dress ended at the seams.
I was temporary to you, but you were permanent to me. . . exactly like all my bad tendencies.