Lighting Up

You crouched close to show me your technique

and I was thrilling at our night of debauchery

and your pursed lips.

We laughed around mouthfuls of smoke.

Frustrated matches flamed out from between my cold novice fingers,

scattering onto the concrete like wasted snowflakes

that no child tried to catch on his tongue.

Finally, you pulled me over to crouch behind a truck,

my hands triangling and yours

lifted close to help. We lit up.

You suggested we walk because I was cold,

the suggestion helping more than the action.

Words dripped like ashes and left meaning glowing and protected like the cherry.

I didn’t like you much at the beginning of the night,

but once the cigar freed your tongue

you dropped bits of truth into the air

and that I liked.

Our group wandered the parking lot like vagrants,

worrying the ladies closing up shop

with little more than our presence

and slanted laughter.

The nicotine stung my lips for hours later

reminding them of the touch

of the cigar

and the smoke settled into my clothes to mark

the night on me. 

rkb