Do you still smoke
cigarettes when you’re
drunk? I remember
your fingers—long,
white, almost skeletal
in the glow of halogen
lights, in the anticipation
of Stockholm nights.
You held cigarettes
the way children
hold hymnals, the way
lovers hold whispers,
and glances, and
secrets. Your fingers
danced across my skin,
tracing constellations
in my night sky.
You showed me
pinpricks of light
in the darkness
and I showed you
the universe. Black.
Infinite and expanding
in every direction.
Tell me, baby, do you
still smoke cigarettes
when you’re drunk?
one black experience 