Over a Cigar(ello)

“How many fucking times do I need to tell you
It’s called a cigarello.”
Each night one of them gets too drunk
and invites the other for a smoke.
Hoping that they can inhale just long enough
that they won’t have to say a word to the other.
While each of them hold their breath
hoping the other will admit their true feelings.
But they’ve both tried to give those to another.

I’ve sat and stared for 4 years. Laughing
at each of their sad attempts to find love
when really maybe I should focus on myself.
But the drama seeker makes the drama so
juicy. She lets the water drip onto her white
t-shirt, No matter how many times her mother
has told her to cover up.

A giggle and flirt come so naturally to her
and he will always let it happen. Even when
he’s been told the shining smile
and lips in bed are just something she does
with friends. Friends she lost from each
time. I’ve seen those legs uncovered and
open one too many time. Over time
She’s left to wonder why they’d
leave someone so nice and pretty.

He’s never smoked alone. If you check his pack
you’ll see the expiration date,
from the last time someone rejected
him A social circle he creates to seem hip and edgy.
Getting the types of girls he doesn’t
know what to do with. And getting too
attached to girls. Who just want to
keep things slippery, wet and fun.
They want a good time and he’s
always wanted a relationship that
doesn’t work.
Guess he craves it.
The way she lost it.

The smoke will billow.


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