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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.

Poem by Edwin Morgan
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