I am the smoke of your secret
cigarette, curling around your
fingers in the dark.

I am the blue of
a hundred country love songs.
I am the silver of
a million wasted coins.
I am the pallor of
a thousand disappointments.

*     *     *

I am the possibility of your sleepless
night, opening somewhere
beyond your vision.

I am the black of
too many scotch-and-sodas.
I am the scream of
somebody's laughter or somebody's brakes.
I am the length of
your hopelessness and your hope.

*     *     *

I am the restlessness of your idle
hands, itching and empty with
nothing to break.

I am the strength
of your willpower.
I am the agility
of your desire.
I am the tenderness
of your brutality.

*     *     *

I am smoking a cigarette.
It is 2:30 in the morning.
I am touching myself.

I miss you.