You used to smoke your cigarettes
I always wonder if you still do.
I can picture the smoke
twisting and turning in your hands.
I can smell the cloves and
I can hear the sound
of the embers crackling with every drag.
I always wanted to feel like one of your cigarettes
on those hazy mornings of winter.
A reason to get up in the morning.
Something to compliment your spiced coffee.
Something to put your lips on because you liked the taste.
And maybe that’s exactly what I was to you.
A temporary wake up
that was terrible for your health.