She put the napkin
on the rim of her
glass
to tell the bartender
we would be back,
a tiny smudge in the
corner,
a stain of lipstick
to match
the smudge on the
glass,
like two sets of lips
embraced in an ever
lasting kiss,
while outside,
in the still chill of the end of winter,
she draws deep
draughts
from the cigarette
she says she hopes to quit,
lipstick smudging
the filter as she inhales,
while I watch her every move,
the fingers, the
lips,
the billows of smoke
that rise around her face,
adding mystery to her already
mysterious eyes,
all of her surrounded by
the darkness of the
street,
weak bar light
emphasizing
the purse of her
lips,
the glint in her eyes
the long fingers
lifting the cigarette
to her face
again and again and again.
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