Sam lit my pipe with his cigar lighter.
It flared and sizzled,
a small handheld rocket in his hands.
I inhaled, letting the smoke fill my lungs,
poisoning my breath.
A lonely streetlamp flickered nearby,
barely illuminating our small picnic table.
The moon hung low in the sky,
floating like a candle in smooth,
untouched water.
The world quieted down
around us as I exhaled,
returning the smoke to the sky.
Returning, turning it back into the crisp night
air that surrounded us.
Sam looked at the street
and watched the red glow radiating
above the bushes from a car's brake lights.

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