(no subject)

[eph_ae]

I smoke in secret
my secret
with the embers caught in the wind.

I smoke with myself,
with my little flame
and my little smoke
while the headlights gently glow
muffled.

I think about finishing them
one by one
a souvenir
when the taste of it forgets me.
I also think about the ones I will get
late at night
or again, alone
and how they will taste
and smell
and remind me.

The stories whose words have fallen down
between the cracks and spaces of the hour hand
tried to capture more than ashes--
--but they flick off in the wind
and they spark on the asphalt
and they are unfinished.

A butt tossed, a cinder smothered,
asunder and snapped in two. The
leaves of the tree fall away,
crushed under tire and tread.

I'm tired and tread inwards,
hoping the memories don't linger
in the escaping tendrils.