We sit on a hard bench,
Under an immaculate wooden sun,
In the angry furnace-like wind,
Next to cold, sparkling water.
You smile brightly, eyes dim,
As you light another cigarette.
The scent envelopes me
Like a lovers last caress.
I watch your face as you smoke.
I watch your slender, awkward hands,
Your hazy malachite eyes,
Your lips- enviable pink are held prisoner
Between slightly uneven white pillars.
I watch you as the water shifts-
You move in time with the flow,
Languorously slow; you sit,
Tapping your box to a rhythm
From which I am again excluded.
I sigh, shifting my attention
To something, anything else.
An old lady passes by us,
Glaring at you for, supposedly,
Corrupting such a sweet girl.
"Such ignorance," I mutter.
You laugh so hard,
So loudly, the cigarette sitting forgotten
In your hand.
She hurries past
On small shuffling feet,
You are dangerous,
She believes. I smile.
She has absolutely no idea
How right that assumption is.
We sit on a hard wooden bench
Under a liquid sun
In a cold, uncaring wind
Next to thick, murky water.
I smile dimly,
Eye's bright, laughing
As I lean over you
And steal your cigarette.