Haze

You’re my trigger person, just being around you makes me want a cigarette.

But the feel of my own lungs inhaling ash never equates to watching you do it.

I think I want a cigarette,

but I when I catch the little popping noise your lips make

when you inhale quickly,

or your strong old hands coming

again to your lips,

or your lips,

shrouded in hazy exhale hedonism,

I realise that really I just want to watch you.

I wish I could smoke the watching.

Maybe I wish I could smoke you.

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