Afterthoughts

The art of languishing is a fine one
one I've mastered in the lonely quiet
of dusk and summer
my head at the foot of the bed
a tiny orange triangle
floating in my fingers
like a specter
through this room of blues

this is where my breath gets clouded
as the logic of a lover
who aches for no one
for someone she can't love

this is when I prophesies
my lungs catching fire
upon inhalation
my body's slow burn to carbon
from the inside out
while gravity sucks it earthward

I lied when I said
I regret nothing
I should have kissed you that night
when the moonrays shone indigo through the window
and I felt like a phoenix

but in the mean time
I've forgotten about the cigarette
the saucer slides off my thigh
when I twist out of these afterthoughts
to find it and I wind up
smearing ash all over the bedspread