he offered her a cigarette when she came outside. she accepted, touching her lips to it. adjusting. lighting. taking the first drag, breathing out but allowing the paper to stay on her mouth. her lips were bare, they looked soft and fleshy, slightly too big compared to her other features.
she came out here every day, a styrofoam cup of coffee in one hand; the other, searching for a cigarette- she never had more than two or three left in the pack.
her eyes blinked slowly, and he watched, as he always had, wondering why she always looked tired. was it just life? or an insatiable lover? he imagined her, perpetual cigarette in hand. he imagined her with tangled hair and flushed skin. he imagined her...
her lips rolled all around the cigarette, burning slowly.
he didn't say anything to her. not that day.
he'd only started smoking last week.
one step at a time.
one day, he would press against those lips.
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