By Aspen Crick
Contributor
It’s that time of year again:
Spooky season,
Her favourite season.
A smile escaping her lips
As smoke makes its way past them.
Cigarette in one hand,
My hand in her other.
A flannel to keep her warm
But her blood flow being enough
To keep the surge of energy.
“Smoke and cigarettes”
Smoke filling the air
Only makes me miss her more
More than I should.
All I have left is a wisp,
A cloud of smoke.
Watching from a distance
As others find love
In October.