short poem. copyright Teneice Durrant The Goldilocks Complex (2006) image pixabay.com
Another Woman
After our work of shuffling
between tables and kitchen, fetching
and smiling and nodding, we go out
for drinks, sit in a barely lit bar
and you dare me to smoke
your cigarette, tease
me because, I confess, I’ve never
inhaled. I take the dare because
we are drunk and your pale eyes, ringed
with mascara hold some mystery.
but instead of putting
the Marlboro to my lips, it is your own
pink mouth pushing wet smoke
past my tongue, your fingertips pressing
the back of my neck
so I can’t pull away. My lungs catch
the cloud you give me
and I cough, hard, as if breathing
for the first time.
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