I remember the view the most.
Funny how I found the dips and lines
Of your rotten cigarette smoke,
Sucked to the filter,
So seductive in light of the preceding events.

Sweet sixteen, fresh and clean with a dirty little secret.
I giggled as you shrugged off your shirt, feeling as dangerous
As the cancer sticks lovingly stored on the dash.
But jesus, the smoke made such beautiful patterns in the wind.

Button by button,
I devoured your image,
Fantasizing about emanating from your body.
I began to wonder if I looked any different.

My anxious fingers fumbled for their target,
Not really caring about what they were doing
As long as they were doing it right.

You smiled at me,
After all, you were just some yellow haired boy
With a messed up life, trying on many faces until you could find one that

I breathed in the permeating aroma of your latest vice.
Not working.

Curious how I'd waited for that moment,
Built it up with time;
Starting from notes from a girl to a parked car
In the stillness of midnight-
Too soon and not soon enough.

But yet I most vividly recall
The glorious curls and lines of the smoke against
Blackened night-
Feeling dangerous, but vindicated.