Smoke some cigarettes
laugh at the process
  meet the woman you longed for
and have a beer or two.
Tell her that her eyes are like bottle caps
   something inside of her is worth
every drop of intake
  and that her lips are soft as the pillows you rest on after a 8 to 5 job.
She's all the rest you need  
you're being captive by a soul
that sheds every time you are one step
away from her
And now that you have her
she'll turn to wine
and loving her gets better
as the years go by

Open container filled with empty ashes,
a heart broken like a pair of old sun glasses.
Time's have changed and moon fades to grey,
my lips kiss the end of a fresh cigarette, lighting the tip
I begin to puff, blow out the smoke and feel a rush through my veins.

He said he likes my clothes
And how they smell like smoke
It reminds him of someone he knew long ago

I caught a whiff of you
In your cloud of tobacco
It was a soft, subtle smell
Enough to call me back though

It tickled my nose
and my other senses
It wasn't floral like rose
It was just your pretenses

There was lavender burning
But that wasn't it either
It was sultry and raw
I don't know why I bothered

I couldn't rest my finger
I don't know what it was
Perhaps it was your eyes?
Burning down our love

It's the still nights, the stormy nights
When I want a cigarette
To spark life in my breath,
When sleep seems dead set
On avoiding me.
It leaves me asking why?
I don't even smoke.

What do you when you start to feel like you can’t breathe again? Your chest gets heavy, and a simple inhale hurts so bad a tear twinges at your eyes. My chest, my lungs heaving as if I ran ten miles, but here I am sitting on my bed in the dark grasping at my chest, the burning of a decade of cigarettes beating me down to the point of where if I try to stand my knees would give and I would lay an empty puddle on the cold hard floor.

A.C.

Nothing is sweeter
than waking
to the silence
of snow
of the movements
your chest makes
before the closed-eye smile
stirs
the ancient Woman in me.
I crawl into your arms
like stepping
into the sunshine abyss
of my childhood
like conjuring
the music
of my sister’s laugh
like conjuring
the dead.
Some mornings
I wake
so full of love
that it takes all of my
strength
to keep my chest
from hallowing
my ribs from cracking.
At 6 a.m.
on a
snow-covered lawn
the revelation
of love
accompanies a cigarette
and cup of
watered-down coffee.
All of the words
you whisper
my porch cowboy
are stuck to me
on a morning
so unaware
of its own
beauty.