Our words are the strings that stitch us together us under a blanket of stars.
The smoke from the end of your cigarette rises,
as you exhale a mouthful of sultry words,
which linger in the air
and fall, as gently as shooting stars, onto my lap.

I pick them up, and hold them in the palm of my hand,
tucking them away, into a pocket full of secrets.

You bring the cigarette back to your lips,
And I watch your lips form into a heart
As you take another drag.

As the smoke penetrates your lungs,
I wonder if you, too, breathe in my words,
If they, too, travel through your blood,
As yours travel through mine.