Our Coterie

the associates of simple cliche
the gathering taking place each day
some once or twice, ne’er or now
no matter the weather, and always somehow
the hearts were spilled upon gray stone
we found that we were no longer alone
in the fifteen minutes we took as leave
each story, remarkably easier to believe
we sit on crates of milk and trash
some spill their drinks while they split their stash
we never tell and always know
that this is where the smokers go.