| So instead I gave you a plastic
orange fish . . . I would rather kiss you than smoke this
cigarette.
My lips tense as I roll the tobacco into a perfect cylinder,
Eyes close as I tease the glue with my tongue,
Nostrils flare with the first exhale,
And I keep smoking.
You stand behind me a thousand miles away.
I feel you slip though my fingers with every breath.
I came to find a poem not a person.
Instead, I found a poem in a person.
I leave, tasting a poem and longing for the person.
Copyright © 1999 by wendi loomis. |