Days since we spoke, since we smoked molten words,
watched their smouldering tips as we sat in the dark
at opposite ends of a warm thought.
Breath blowing through shadows, chain smoking
through a packet of paper-rolled emotions,
savouring distilled tincture with tongues.
Tonight, we will sit in the dark again and commune;
we will cup our hands and light up,
watchful not to let the words burn down too quickly,
leaving our eyes bleary and our lips blistered.