I dreamed we smoked foreign clove cigarettes

and the wine we ordered was young – ’95

and tasted as bitter as our senile thoughts

You caressed the cotton skin of your shirt

and exhaled the perfumed smoke

The whole house smelled of you now

and I couldn’t be happier

You eyed me in that seductive Parisian way

and I felt my heart melt

and thought of ‘darling buds of May’

You eventually finished your black cigarette

and molded in the arms of the patchwork sofa

I just signed in an affectionate way

Too lazy to smile

Too relaxed to move

I dreamed we smoked foreign clove cigarettes

and left the rest up to chance