Smoke

I am undecided.
One flame; two cigarettes. The smoke sits in my teeth.
‘Thought it was meant to be summer.’
He’s right: it’s cold. The air is heavy with itself.
Finn has green eyes that sit soft under his brow, when he draws on his cigarette his jaw hardens.
Smoke. It’s all the day’s good for.
‘I thought you were meant to be fun.’
He winks, ‘we could go and have some fun.’
‘Haven’t you been having fun with Kerry?’
Smoke curls over his lip. His eyes on the horizon. The waves hum.
I am the tip of the wave before it knows how it will break.
My cigarette sizzles on the sand.
He draws a deeper breath, takes my chin in his fingers turning my mouth to his, parts my lips. The smoke slips down my throat.

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