Last Smoke

She sits on a window sill,
Freezing her cameltoe and
Too busy looking at rooftops
To remember me.
She was trashed when
She came to my apartment
Much later than moths.

Just about now, she lights a cigarette
Longer than whatever
Timeline she cares about,
Then tosses it onto the fire escape:
Its puny blush fades as
Winter nudges it into free fall.