They gather in my glass porch
to will the warmth into outside
air, where they cannot stay
long, smoking cigarettes.
I watch them settle into long curves
that mold chairs' soft cushions.
Smoke blurs and chatter
thickens and words blend
into long murmurs of emotion
that I feel rise through the soles
of my feet. I sit off to the side.
After I quit smoking,
it's all I can do to watch the slow
smolder of a cigarette at a pair of lips,
until she stubs it out to reach for another.
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