A lit cigarette and a long exhale is discreet enough
To echo how the door latches behind you
Drawing the nights wind like a fresh breath
Against the burn of post-coital skin, if indeed mint could soothe
You’d just as easily dissolve on my palette, good man.
“And you’re happy this way?”
“Honey, this is the way the game is played.”
We raise our glasses, towards my other hedonistic escape.