THE BOSS
I sat in the most comfortable chair
supporting me like
a low hanging
cloud before
a spring rain
she was straddling me
arching her back slightly
when she took a drag from a cigarette
the ashtray was on my stomach
ashes were scattered
in my chest hair
from her lack of an aim
even after several attempts
to not blow
smoke in each others faces
our lips split
by gray slowly floating
to her ceiling
then disapearing
our filters
grippingly
disturbed
by the next time
we had
to put on an apron
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