The Corner of Spring and Regent

Your cigarette smoke sneaks out of your throat

just like a silent prayer as it infects

the sky with a hazy sunset. The flame

sinks closer to your lips as you suck on

the filter, the same way we cherished our

lollipops in our youth. Impossible

that we are the same people as we were

back then. It’s the ultimate, cosmic prank.

I wanted to kiss you just as badly

then. I wanted you to envelope me

like the blanket you could not get to sleep

without. I was your secret keeper, your

walking diary, and I remember

everything: the bed-wetting, the bruises

from your father, the rough curls on your scalp,

held in my palms as you were vomiting.

Would you have the secrets back if you could?

The trouble with my brain is she forgets

everything: phone numbers, names, book titles,

but she insists on holding on to you.

Every word. Every memory. Every

drag into your lungs. All I have wanted

is to be the cigarette between your

teeth. To be your relief, your ecstasy,

your first craving when you wake. Always there

comes a point when there is nothing left to

burn. You toss the butt into the snowy

curb, indifferent. Nothing ever keeps

you and your reckless soul satiated

for long. I light the match for your next smoke.