the cigarette moments, outside
exhale, inhale when you recognise another’s words
nodding internally
as you agree with them
whilst
drawing the cigarette
and watching the smoulder wither
vigilantly ensuring its death
is not instant
bending the stem, contorting the consulate
all slender, dither
another drink
time to go back inside
its been like,
like, strangling someone.
......................................

I was with her
and I withered
as the moment  gasped a few embers
the only thing in common
was between our lips
trying to clutch on to oxygen
but the brick
or tarmac is hard faced, loves asphyxiation
rather like the reality
our  fingers fixed forceful
we are serial killers
no emotion, fixated
ensuring extinction
the cigarette is dead, discarded
it is a stump
and the night almost fully retarded
this parasol of halogen keeps us warm
our hosts are sympathetic to silk cut sycophants
this pathogen
we don’t use their chrome wall box ashtray
we give stub away to earth or asphalt
and she
     and che'
            and shalt
swap body stance
dance, flirt spurious spalt
alternating feet
shuffle, almost uneasy agitates, like its never enough
like gannet chicks, open-mouthed
wanting to stuff even more.
this
the only real thing experienced
in a room washed
back there, in all that social disappointment
the only thing real,
were the cigarette conversations outside
this bizarre bonding of addicts
all with their own agenda, personalities
united by nicotine, seems bizarre
a collective club of killing ourselves
the lungs cover 2 football pitches
if laid out, internal surface area
of kamikaze
and kicking a dead pig we do
finding common ground in embassy, capstan
butt
denying the addiction
will bury the glut of us
rack the rut of us
wander back in to the bar.