apartment.
His lungs.
Bad habit, I know.
I watched hands, hard and etched
like granite, light a match
with finesse.
Do you have any bad habits?
I could have made up something.
Instead I shook my head.
Want any?
I wanted him. Bad enough. I reached
for the cigarette in his hand.
You don’t smoke, do you?
I took a small puff. Struggled
like hell not to cough.
Or throw up.
Careful. You’ll get sick.
So I did the sensible thing. Took
another drag. Felt better.
Come here, Bree.
He pulled me close, locked my eyes,
tilted his face just a fraction.
Then I really felt queasy.
He Wanted to Kiss Me
I felt it with every nerve,
every fiber,
every molecule
of my being.
I wanted him to kiss me,
with every nerve,