Opening the window, we throw one leg out,
followed by the other. Bracing cheeks to be
licked by a winter that’s been thus far unforgiving.
Mindful of where we leave our footprints, careful
so as not to fall off, we never even come close.

Fingers hesitate to bend, shocked red and confused as to
what they are. They stiffly reach into a breast pocket
and feel for that familiar soft pack.
Pulling at the top to bring another rush,
fondling it between lips drier than the paper they hold

Staring across white planes that seem endless in the moment,
lit by a single yellow street lamp being suffocated
by the black of the only world we’ve known.
“We could light this town on fire, y’know?”
Nods are shared, smiles are short, we all drone on.

A flick of the thumb and an argumentative elbow brings
life to the end of an unfiltered Camel cigarette.
We all exhale stale scents into the air.
Pulling until lips start to burn, being stingy as to take the entire thing
down from head to foot, pretending it will be our last

Visions of flames tearing in our wake and scorching
land as we whoop and holler.
We lay back, feeling the cold seep through thin wool,
stuck on the fantasy of lighting the town ablaze.
The daze fades, our craniums pound, the drone continues