-my hands weren't as steady as hers.

I watched her pull the cigarette 

from her mouth. 

We sit together in silence 

as I watched the smoke drift from the end of the pleasure that was wedged between her steady fingers. 

There was a common ground between that cigarette and I.

Those ashes weren't the only thing that had fallen for her.

It wasn't the only thing that enjoyed her soft lips. 

I, also, enjoyed the embrace of her warm fingertips.

God forbid those fingers ever be empty.

I longed to be something that she reminded herself that she needed periodically.

I just want, no, I need, to feel needed. To be a day that wouldn't be the same without me. 

To be craved in the dusky morning when the sun rose. 

To be reached for when I was being lacked.

To be inhaled even though she knew how toxic I am. 

Desiring that spark that flickered each time she stepped outside on the porch to light one, something that never got old.

Addiction never gets old. 

But, her love scared me. 

Just as her cigarette. 

An addiction could be temporary. 

She had the control to put me out when she was finished with me. 

And with her persistence, I knew it wouldn't take long to quit.

I wish I had that control. 

The control to quit loving her so intensely. 

So, my love, just let me burn. 

And say my ashes weren't once something bright.