Sitting with you is
The best part of my day.
The smell of some
****** light blue American Spirit
Hangs over us in a fog.
You’re talking philosophy
At me, and I’m leaning
Back against a tree
Blowing smoke at the sky.
You are everything that
I have been looking for.
I know you’re not just mine,
But sometimes I like
To pretend that you are.
The 16th poem in a collection I haven't titled any of yet.