It Burns Slowly

 He lives with the light at the end of his square- with the end of his cigarette. He thinks with the fire at the tip of his cigarette. His thoughts are of her only. Over her he has no power- her whims, her thoughts are her own. She's leaving here to go to her own home. He lights another cigarette. This fire he knows he can control. He smokes the leaf that kills it's soil- it soaks up all that's around. It's a weed in its own home. He longs for something more than what he has. He lights another square. He wont let the flame go out. The flame is his life- the closest thing to life he has. The ash floats. The butt burns. His thoughts are of her. He waits for her shift to end as the tip of his cigarette burns. He yearns. He yearns for something more, for something he does not have- something he cannot control. His thoughts are of her. He's on his last cigarette. The butt burns.