Swallowing Air

While the car coughs, idle
in front of my house, I fish
for a lighter. I squint as the space
between two flakes of snow
widens and separates, and the sound of it
flicks away like the last flint click
of the dead lighter in my hand. I need
some fire, or at least some butane
if I am ever going to finish
this cigarette. In a perfect world
I could just snap my fingers
and that spinning onyx heart
of mine would light the end, and then
I could breathe deeply and reignite
the slow glass surrounding my winter lungs.

The car lurches away, just
another fish, splitting lazy vapor
in half like a skyward fin. In its wake
I see the fog spiral inward, settling
like backward ripples from skipping
stones, and I am reminded of my own
mortality, reminded of that space
I knew once but have since lost,
reminded of the lighter without flame,
and I am perplexed by the red
hot ember burning in my ashtray
that adores the smoke in my eyes.

Reviews

[Glen Yumang Manese]

and I am reminded of my own
mortality, reminded of that space
I knew once but have since lost,
reminded of the lighter without flame,
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and I am reminded of my own
mortality, reminded of that space
I once knew but have since lost,
reminded of the lighter without flame,

did you want to use the word "reminded" repetitiously in those lines...and as I read it...I wonder if your want to reverse the word order in the third line...I kept putting "once knew" in my read...but this is your verse...

another effective write here...with the usage of the lighter as a theme pieces and the car...and yet you end this well:

and I am perplexed by the red
hot ember burning in my ashtray
that adores the smoke in my eyes.

[Emily B]

cold chills, these are perfect words