smoke cloud holidays

you're out smoking on our front porch,
tendrils rising and twirling  
mixing with humid air, pungent sweat and crows feet.

between the brick and dry wall
i bury my clever words from you,
cover them in paint
then dig them out again.
there was always a part of me that wished you would find them,
but in reality you never do.

from my room i can hear you hum through the open window,
it's rough and out of tune, but
"the night" you once said
"is always too quite."
so i let it go and close my eyes.

when you're around there's electricity in the air.
i want your unfamiliar weight pressed against me,
rough hands,
new explorations.

i want to give into you,
and everything that comes with it.