Sitting in a bathroom stall somewhere in New York
Thinking of nicotine stained fingers
That would force their way against my tongue
As if to give me a taste of what they once held
Salty sweet with the taint of cancer and withheld promises
Happy to be hidden in the confines of a bathroom stall
That smells of over burnt candles
As if to erase past memories of rough sex and overdoses
On lust and nicotine
Slim fingers but a quick tongue and burnt lungs
Smelling of cigarette smoke and cologne
But still an easy smile of a young boy
That’s shoving his nicotine stained fingers
Against some girl’s tongue back at home.