A solid pull
from yet another cigarette.
A means of suspending time,
a pause, a break, a delay;
her way of holding back a
moment. She can only wonder.
Silence is a cancer.
A night filled with
too many expectations,
and questions. The wistful
lambency of all the answers
failed to fully satisfy.

Exhale, forcefully,
through the nose, tapping the
cigarette into a laden ashtray
truly not knowing
what will next come out
of her mouth. Why.
The reasoning tenuous,
at best, but
rationalizations are
tricky things. Here,
the morning after, she remains
certain, but unsure.

Smoke fills
the commodious hotel room.
So many anonymous people
have had sweaty sex here before.
They’ve been here before,
years ago, when questions
were different, or never arose.
Passion tends to overlook
the obvious, all too often.
I have to leave, she says,
eyes cast downward.
There is no other way.

04/20/17                     © j.g. lewis