counting cigarettes

bare feet on the damp boards of the rain-soaked porch

I try counting how many cigarettes are left

not in the packs between us, leaning on the rail

but in moments left to us in this sacred space

where we learned the measure of our lips

and the direct relation of hands to laughter

no use pouring coffee before it’s been made

this now for now, with you will more than do

© Sarah Whiteley