cross legged,

anne-ed,

i lifted my box of smokes

off the floor

tilt them over

and take one out

with my mouth.

light it with a yellow fire

suck it like

high school angst,

breathing it all over

the letters.

i am writing to my old friend.

my voice is deeper

i am finding my voice.

his telling me about his days

in the city

are weak,

my response

is rambles

we don't know each other

anymore.

the cigarette loses its burn

to the motion of the air.

i light another.

i am afraid of my hands without

burning between them.

2004-07-22, 8:26 p.m.
design by bluechicken

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