nicotine stains

I

 everytime i want to smoke but have run out of cigarettes my heart skips a beat just like the second time i met you.

it is quiet, begs no attention from the unacquainted, for a moment fools me into thinking I could be ignorant.

but the gaping sits and leers the way the smoke curls around unseen drafts of air

its lightness and translucency so easily mistaken

look closely – the two ends of a noose.

It descends and tightens around my windpipe,

sends my heart into shatters,

dances among them, veering in and between.

a celebration of their diurnal work

a ceremony of deadly love

to me, their king

II

this time there are none and I exhale only the stale air that has caressed my lungs

i resolve to the touch that will never have the warmth of yours

i resolve to the disillusionment that has made that warmth only of your mortal blood.

my heart skips a beat and i try to hold ground as something tremors,

excruciating,

white-knuckle sobriety.

III

it is true you have defiled even the lightest parts of my body

with your nicotine stains and all your mind games

I, a willing participant.

from your parted lips I mistook the smoke for life force

an exchange of gaseous hopes

Ingestion did not happen. I had wondered why I still felt empty.

But I sit with the stale air,

And now, let the words flicker and curl 

the beginning of healing

xx