Evening Cigarette (or, Thank You, Marlboro Lights)

the lace that startles, white
above the yellow glow of the
security light--motion activated
it flicks on, sudden-like

as he passes below her window, where he knows
she sleeps, long under the covers as
the paper/tobacco tip of his cigarette
crackles, drawing in that first

lovely infusion of smoke to the lungs
(and, exhale) conscious of the
stage directions governing them both.

her face in the window, in summer framed
by straw, smile a blur of pink,
moving, wordless, behind the single
pane

now pressed to the pillow, tumbler
of water easy to hand

the hand that holds, clasping,
unclasping