Ash built up on the end
of the cigarette
in what seemed to be
an engineering marvel-
how did it not fall off?
It grew untethered yet attached
as he held it between
thumb and forefinger
like he must’ve done
long before he knew me.
But something else was going on.
I could only fixate on the ash
while he held onto the moment
before a drag would knock it off.
His eyes on me. My eyes on ash.
A deliberately long puff and
the ash fell to the concrete.
It was not dramatic like a glass
spilling contents of a drink
and breaking into sharp pieces
that could cut.
It was quiet. And swift.
The particles were lost
without actually touching ground
in the softest whirl of air
that came from the door
opening and closing.
No comments:
Post a Comment