i knew a girl
made of cigarette smoke.
she wore winter around her like a warm overcoat
and she'd write and she'd smile, and she'd write and she'd laugh,
and the smoke was her own sense of peace.

saved her lucky for last,
and exhaled a wish
that wisped and whispered, luminous.
it curled, quiet, against the night sky,
and lingered.

she ran her fingers through it.
knew it well and held it close.
she let it go...
she let it float,
she let it drift.

and her carbon monozide wish is still curling,
as long as that cigarette smoke keeps unfurling,
continues twirling itself
into wreaths above her bed.

she stamps it out.
flicks the filter to the ground.
walks inside,
and echoes through an empty house.
but she's not alone,
no,
and she never will be.

i knew a girl
made of cigarette smoke.
she wore winter around her like a warm overcoat
and she'd write and she'd smile, and she'd smile and she'd laugh,
and the smoke was her own sweet release.