Burn

I hate it when I smoke

until the butt burns my lips.

I'm not smart enough

to let it go before then.

Like I'm not wise enough

to say no to all of them,

those men, those beautiful men,

who burn my lips

before I learn to let go.

I"m not the rock star

sitting on my bedside table

in his underwear,

waiting for me to let him down.

I'm like the frosted flakes

in a bowl beside him,

weeping puddle of drenched crispness

stale and frozen to the bottom

like some discarded memorabilia

from four days ago,

the ticket to a show

we were supposed to go

to together but he never showed

so I went there and from there

alone.

I need to learn to put it out

before it burns my lips again.