dan, why are you smoking in the rain?

i met you in the tunnels of the subways,
warm heat and damp hair drawing us together,

safety pins and the blue in your eyes.
we stared down the lights and winds of the trains,

and i watched you out of the corner of my mouth,
thinking how unnaturally the red hair matched the blue in your eyes.

threading your fingers together,
you smoked a cigarette,

uncaring and absolute, and,
dropping it, still burning, on the floor,

you smiled and blew smoke at me,
the blue freckling in your eyes.

you were playing with fire.
again, i can’t look away from you.

striking matches and letting them burn out,
i want to run fingers across your coat, and

wipe the water out of the corner of your eyes.