sometimes a cigar is just a cigar

except when she’s holding it

easy between her fingers

or dangling from her lips–

watching her,

I’d like to Freudian slip

and slide

down the length of her,

ease my fingers inside

while I am fulfilled by her

this isn’t just a single hit,

it’s an addiction I can’t quit and I want

to drink my fill of her:


the smell of her neck, her warm skin whiskey-slick


the words I can only whisper

because she is more

than just a summer lover and

I wish I could spin-suckle-smoke

her flavor

every time we’re together;

fuck Freud, this is better

than any substance

or disorder I’ve ever

tried, so maybe it’s time

for giving up on

living it up on the straight edge

she’s got me hooked

line and sinker

got me wrapped around her finger

got me falling for

a cigar-smoking bartender

and the best part of it is

I don’t even give a shit,

I just want to be her drug of choice

I just wanna sit close and listen

to her voice.