A ruinous cigarette
hanging, from a pair of lipstick coated lips.
Lit only by the flame of anger,
of pain and sorrow.
A red, a glow.
Blue, cold fingertips caress.
Hold and cool and comfort.
Confusion with unrequited pink,
an unwanted mix. Shaken, not stirred.
Jolted. They know only too well.
The other hand holds a glass of rose,
skimming the familiar curves,
addiction.
Much like the drag she takes
from her cigarette, he goes to her
and leaves
with the smoke.