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.

Exhaling;

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.

Sign up to our Mailing List

Sign up to receive communications from Creative Future, including opportunities, updates on activities and more.

Scroll to Top