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Description
You shoved your tin of nicotine
and cancer beneath my nose
and told me “smell it,
it tastes like evergreen.”

And as we walked these streets
of gentle suburbia, hardly
touching—but remembering all those
days of adamant high
school love (now unravelled and lost
like a paperclip you unwound
and can’t put back together again)—
I breathed in your smoke
and spice and mint, and bottled
it up like a souvenir.

You kissed me that evening,
even though we both knew you shouldn’t.
Your lips tasted like champagne,
(bitter)sweet and free,
even though all you ever drink is beer.

“My insides are fireproof,”
you said as you lit another
cigarette,
and I pretended not to
m
i
n
d.

Description
You shoved your tin of nicotine
and cancer beneath my nose
and told me “smell it,
it tastes like evergreen.”

And as we walked these streets
of gentle suburbia, hardly
touching—but remembering all those
days of adamant high
school love (now unravelled and lost
like a paperclip you unwound
and can’t put back together again)—
I breathed in your smoke
and spice and mint, and bottled
it up like a souvenir.

You kissed me that evening,
even though we both knew you shouldn’t.
Your lips tasted like champagne,
(bitter)sweet and free,
even though all you ever drink is beer.

“My insides are fireproof,”
you said as you lit another
cigarette,
and I pretended not to
m
i
n
d.