One Cigarette

No smoke without you, my fire.
After you left,
your cigarette glowed on in my ashtray
and sent up a long thread of such quiet grey
I smiled to wonder who would believe its signal
of so much love. One cigarette
in the non-smoker's tray.
As the last spire
trembles up, a sudden draught
blows it winding into my face.
Is it smell, is it taste?
You are here again, and I am drunk on your tobacco lips.
Out with the light.
Let the smoke lie back in the dark.
Till I hear the very ash
sigh down among the flowers of brass
I'll breathe, and long past midnight, your last kiss.

by Edwin Morgan

Comments (8)

Nice poem! Well written.
Nice poem. I like it
Love-struck. I relish the poem's well-wrought imagery.
I hear the very ash sigh down among the flowers of brass. good one.
(without cigarette on fire i can still smell you much more if you put your lips to mine) very realistic poem.
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