I spent last night smoking cloves with Billy Moon (aka. Christopher Robin)

The hay fire in my ears,
a taste of handsome on
my tongue-- he never notices
when I stare, or don't.
The sip of smoke in my mouth,
the slip of his hand up
my shirt. The sidewalk is cold
under my jeans; the smoke
keeps my lips warm.
There's a bulb blown on a strand
of Christmas lights on the house
across the street. I point
it out to Billy. He nods and lights
another clove.