Your smoke signals
lure me
to the balcony.
Reflected in the glass balustrade
I see your hand,
cigarette poised,
I see your stomach,
I see the nipples of your chest.
Your head is cut off.
The phantom cigarette descends,
a cloud passes-
you wane.
You wax-
your torso
rematerialises.
Behind the blue partition
a page turns.
I move slightly
to maximize my view.
You cough politely.
You light up.
I light up,
feasting on your headless body.