Petty Burns

When we kissed, the taste of burned ashes mingled in my mouth. I'll never forget that flavor. It's never quite the same when I pick up those cigarettes you used to smoke. When we kissed, it had a nice slow burn taste, with a hint of sharp hope and a dash of sweetness. But when I smoke all I savor is tobacco. Do you remember my first cigarette? I do. You lit the tip and I watched as the fire slowly crept closer and closer to my unsuspecting lips. I was startled and the cigarette flew effortlessly from my mouth to my arm. It barely singed the flesh, but left an uncanny mark. I watched as the panic flooded your face and the pain on my arm set in. You promised me never again. Never again. I still taste the burned ashes in my mouth when I look at my scar, but this time it's mixed with a new flavor. Something along the lines of longing.