Cut in the cloth
Of a new evening
Even the stars look different
Somehow
Yet around this table
Familiarity sits and drinks
Like one of us
Each night blending into the next
Turning the heavy paper
Words spilling out like liquid
A hand under the table
Yearning for flesh.
But there isn't anything more.
This is it. Just this.
And we smoke it down
Suck it down
To the last drop
As embers collide with metal:
The broken back
Of a crumpled cigarette.