You lean against the car smoking a cigarette while looking up at the sky. I watch your lips blow the toxic smoke into the night air. Your dark, desolate eyes meet my gaze and we stare at each other in silence. It's a tense silence, a fragile one, waiting to be shattered.
I watch the way you hold the cigarette, carefully and gently, as if it will crumble between your fingers. You were always careful with things; in fear that they could break and disappear at any moment. Maybe you cared so much about things and objects, that you forgot people were fragile too.
Your chapped, pink lips wrap around the cigarette almost romantically. I never considered smoking attractive until I met you. But then again, I guess you have a way of making everything look beautiful.
Your other hand holds onto a bottle which you occasionally raise to your lips. You're immune to the burning liquid now. You've had a lot of practice. You pull me into your chest and kiss my lips softly, brushing a strand of my hair out of my face. When I pull away, you replace my lips with the bottle again. And as I watch your swollen pink lips wrap around the bottle, it makes me wonder what your lips taste like without the flavor of smoke and alcohol.
YOU ARE READING
words for the wind
Poetryshort writings and poems about sad shit like love and heartbreak _______________________________ previously known as "Lost"
