She holds me
in her slender hand
fingers
caress me, fiddle, her energy
transferred to
me.
An inhale,
simple really; I swirl
in her
mouth, down her tender throat
to her lungs
where I settle however briefly
then once
again find her throat, mouth
to pass
through her parted lips graced with
Passion Pink
lipstick. A silent O of smoke
floats and
dissipates, much the way our love did.
My smoke
envelopes her hair, stirring the blonde
tint over
her left eyebrow. I play my vapor along
her arm as
she reaches for her new man. He
waives me
away, annoyed, but pleased she
has taken
the seat he reserved for his find of the night.
She coughs,
a jarring reminder of what I can do. She
laughs and
lights another me. I center my talent in her
lungs,
leaving bits in air sacs, leaving bits for doctors
to find.
That nasty
thing, cancer. Oh, how I’d like to be
a cigarette.
