I like smoking at parties now
My fingers are dusty with ink
from packing sentences into paragraph packing crates
so I can leave out of the front door one day;
You are telling me you’ve found a new way to kill you.
You shared a lighter with the boy
who put me out with tepid water,
who would have kept my bones as keepsakes.
His lips, your lungs,
I have passed from breath to breath
until I was ash caught in the mercy of the wind.
I am not smoke. I fly free from his lips and your lungs.
Smoke your cigarettes.