I find myself smoking clove cigarettes on the fire escape.
I do not know when I rose from the bed and shed the blankets
at my feet like all the things I can’t say when the sunlight
stains everything. It doesn’t matter - soon, this fire escape
and these walls will be a memory I sometimes walk by on the street.
The filter leaves a gentle taste on my lips and I am reminded
of all the times you’ve kissed me with clove cigarettes still on your lips
and even in the darkness I do not feel safe like I used to.
Some things do not need light in order to grow.