I miss the smell of smoke

coming in the open window.

You would sit on the step,

in a circle of light

and watch the sunset.


your lips were an ‘O’,

your breath; a wreath

above your head.

Your pack of Marlboro

gathers dust on the shelf

and your smoker’s tray

is full of rain

and autumn leaves.

I remember

your cigarette butt glowed

and the ash

scattered in the wind.

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