Your gloriously thick dark eyebrows, your chapped dry lips
in most seasons except spring, your crooked eye that winks a second before the
other, the way you tap the ash off your cigarette so effortlessly, the way you
dance to Human League. It’s enough to keep me coming back.
So I do. Each time I see you, you are a little more perfected
the way my mind wants you. Cuban cigars, Pall Mall cigarettes, roll ups. I got
you down to roll-ups. Cigars made me too chesty, cigarettes made you smoke more
than I wanted you too, roll-ups were cool and the least harmful. Social smoking
only.
“don’t, don’t you want
me? you know I don’t believe you when you say that you don’t need me”
“ I was working as a
waitress in a cocktail bar”
I defined you with a song. I created you with a song. With a
word and a feeling. I created you therefore you do not exist my sir.
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