Smoke out of a window

Air the room with a candle
and the night's breeze.
You like his company
though he's ten years too old
and you're ten years too cynical
and they wonder
is she getting paid for this?
Another whisky,
and the sound of the television's
blotted with rain and the street
outside as you flick your ash
onto puddled concrete.
He's just an entertainment
like the time it takes to smoke
a f*g. But the smell needs a longer
time to air out,
sticks in hair, skin,
waters eyes, fills
clothes. Friends don't get it.
Now perfume smells like rape.