Not merely a sound,
nor altogether raspy.
I hear you beyond this
room, and I
feel more than
one maybe ought to.

Through my nose and
along my spine, its
smoke feels soft, the
scent not overly sweet—and
corny or not,
you are
both those things.

Flickering glances,
the wish for sparks
to grow to flames—
then the fluorescents snap on
and I know you’re
”all ears”
but would you really want to
hear something like
this
from me?

Reagan Fleming