Breathing room.

My eyes follow the cigarette to his lips.

"He's cute", I muse.

We don't really speak the same first language, but

I raise my eyebrows in a question mark

and gesture with two fingers.

Take a pull.

He doesn't look quite like you,

But I'm having trouble remembering

what you look like,

and he is cute.

Exhale.

There's an edge of shyness

in the way he takes it back

as the smoke settles on my clothes

in my hair-

I said I wouldn't do this

breathing once more through red embers-

But I guess growing up is learning

that there is no moral legal system.

I could yawn but instead I smile at him,

Grind the filter with my heel,

and go back inside to dance.

Link and link