To have a cigarette.
Lit from a stranger’s cigarette.
The short crackle that aligns two faces
in the bonds of convenient engagement.
A spark of warmth in the inebriated air.
But without wit and without charm,
the shroud of grey that blurs the space between the moment fades.
Friends turn back to friends.
Between nights, they vanish unchosen.
Only drift.
A glow, then nothing.
As if it never asked to stay.
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