I light another cigarette. Smoke curls through the air.
I form an image. It is as intangible as the haze around me.
What does she mean to me? I sit. I think.
Her head against my chest. The silk cover of her hair
caresses my bare neck.
Then it is gone.
She looks at me.
Her hazel eyes are tinted green tonight.
My head tilts. A mind of its own.
I see her lips.
The cigarette is out. The haze is gone.
Tonight I sit alone.
The memory still remains.
© 1989, Robinson Publications, all rights reserved