[The smoke has weight]

The smoke has weight. It gets carried
on the wind, like a plea:
Don't go o o o o o o...

But I must. Breath has
no weight. It just floats around our heads
and dissipates. I watch it move

until there's nothing left. We are fighting
for service. A message for girls
in tight black pants with zippers to nowhere.

We don't know who you are, but you look
like a girl we used to love. A girl
who likens herself to Temperance Brennan,

'cos she knows fiction is more real than real.
We don't know why she comes
to us, five drinks in, but she does.

And she will. Until a nerve is struck and pulled,
extracted from our strained throats.
The smoke will lead her to us.