Lawyer by profession. Poet by choice. Cat-lover by accident.
She’s a lit cigarette in high-heeled flair,
dancing on the glass edge of an ashtray.
Smoke billows from her flickering hair,
signaling her freedom, but to whom and where?
Her freedom lies in kindling wildfires.
Her freedom lies in your searing heat.
Her freedom lies in the zeroes
she blows from her mouth –
all to hide the spent butts at her feet.
You dine on the soot of her words,
pretending they didn’t hurt,
when they blistered your tongue
and ruined its worth.
Her taste turns to gray,
as she burns through her last rung
to stumble into a dogend entrée –
a dying remnant of yesterday’s sun.
The final puffs poisoned your lungs,
only for you to mourn the day
you found peace in her smoldering pieces,
wishing to God that she’d stayed.
© 2022 Derek Siriwattasit