Skinny jeans, peeling shoes, whatever
It's a genius that can't be shown
He wears a cross, not to bear as a brandishing
More like a birthmark proudly selected
He leans against the door holding it open
For a crowd of green faces unprotesting
He blows the smoke away from them, or tries to
Focuses on her as best he can
She's the first person he ever told yes
When she asked to bum a smoke
He is becoming increasingly comfortable
He addresses her like a familiar, except not so touched
He says "you know, by the time we get to heaven
Everyone will be smoking.
They don't have to worry about it anymore.
But you and me? We already have heaven.
"It's death. But it's heaven. We got there early."
She lifts and drops her eyebrows like a wink
As they continued shaking off the cold
Autumn, 2013 originally
several edits