Crisp fall cigarettes
Remind me of black coats just thick enough to withstand first bites of cold. Sun landing upon cheeks, a desire to caress rough hairs. The slight smack of the lips, kissing filters, inhaling and the crackle of burning paper. The same circle we always stand in, well into night, drinking whiskey and wine. Male voices making vibrations comforting and safe over hot apple cider. I wonder if I am laughing or crying.
The smell on the skin of a neck. Familiar. The taste of alcohol sweat. A mouth still cold from the last sip of beer.