two cigarettes and every minute of eternity

the first minute felt achingly protocol -

silence implored

by the pure weight 

of words such as hers.  

i lit a cigarette hoping, that 

by the time of my exhale 

i might have formed a response 

bright enough to spark pardon 

into her tone,

yet something in my smoke lungs 

begged another drag - 

after all, 

no woman i could love,

would

cheapen her words 

to the worth of  

solely my response. 

one thing she taught me - 

no woman in the world 

wants anything in the world 

but to be listened to -  

and heard, 

the kind of heard that begs silence. 

the second felt justified, 

as if the first had been

the learning curve; 

time but to assemble - 

our past sins approaching 

and now face them, 

ready and patiently. 

i was apologetic 

that's a fact, 

yet even the guilty - 

comprehend mercy 

deep inside themselves 

wanting 

there to be 

something she sees - 

worth letting up for air. 

the third felt like subtle affirmation, 

like a long stop and dinner, 

then the climbing back into the truck 

for the next leg of the road. 

we were poised to brave the on and on.  

(there is a dark side of a full moon 

a danger in - 

even the sunlight; 

but there is joy in forward - 

toward the direction of what our hearts want, 

even, on the days that we don't make it there) 

i lit another cigarette, we 

were echoing each other's breathing 

full gasps of life - 

in and out 

like westbound transcontinental-locomotives 

nearly through the desert, 

nearly home.

the fourth felt like healing 

the fifth and sixth like resurrection - 

yet something in my smoke lungs begged another drag, 

after all, 

the only woman i could love, 

gave me two cigarettes

and every minute of eternity

to truly hear her, and 

in so doing 

form the only response  

worth such a beautiful voice.