Pretty Girls Don’t Light Their Own

This poem is inspired by Ten Words on Facebook and also posted there.

You make a show
motions deliberately cool, slow
of lighting her cigarette
cup it in hands, intimate
shhhk shkk, in the dark flames glow
you draw the lighter back, the pull
bringing her close
perfume, rose, filling your nose
weaves strings of smoke as she breathes
oxygen across tobacco leaves
from the bar music wafts
and rain plops and downdrops
like the beats and the bass
she says she likes the rain
but really she wants t’ hold
that cig and feel the distance fold
between your unworn souls


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