Five months after my divorce from tobacco,
I buy the first pack, tapping
Each one out
And sucking it down to the last reek
And bitter inch, until the air
Blurs to blue.
And soon it all comes back again–
The cough, the sour fingertips,
The charred lungs.
Maybe you can turn away from breathless love,
But not me. I marry my death
With smoke rings.