Cigarettes On Monday Poem by Kewayne Wadley

She walked out the door,
Thin traces of smoke left dissipating by the moment.
 
Traces of addiction left behind,
left lingering between my fingers.
 
The scent of her remains.
Dotting in the air around.
 
She fills my lungs.
Residing in a place close to my heart.
 
From stranger to stranger,
She finds her way back.
 
A cause for concern,
Each time I tell her that this is the last time.
 
Deep down I miss her.
The way she feels against my lips.
 
The fluent ways she speaks,
bringing forth that moment of clarity.
 
The fire that ignites
each time she's around.
 
A filtered remedy
which constitutes reasons I miss her.
 
The fights that end
in disagreement, hindering the peaceful feeling she brings.
 
I miss her so,
As this time will be the last time