One Cigarette

 No smoke without you, my fire.

After you left,
your cigarette glowed on in my ashtray
and sent up a long thread of such quiet grey
I smiled to wonder who would believe its signal
of so much love.
 One cigarette
in the non-smoker's tray.

As the last spire
trembles up, a sudden draught
blows it winding into my face.

Is it smell, is it taste?
You are here again, and I am drunk on your tobacco lips.

Out with the light.

Let the smoke lie back in the dark.

Till I hear the very ash
sigh down among the flowers of brass
I'll breathe, and long past midnight, your last kiss.

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