He lights his cigarette, I prepare to share it,

just so his lungs could see less tar. 

He’s in a reflective mood; I can tell by the way
the flame emerged from his lighter
red and tenderly squirmed like a worm in a furnace.

He holds my gaze as the flame faints back in its tank
drags on the cigarette, slowly tilts his head back. 

I ever tell you the story about the mang...

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