smoking in the shower

(rewrite because that’s how writers operate)

i rub the shower gel under my breasts,
hot steam crawls up the glass
and cigarette smoke floats
up through the drain

from the hotel lobby,
where men drink cocktails and
pop wasabi-coated nuts onto
their tongues, and

three floors above them
i'm thinking about that time we went
to my place one early fall morning
and you kissed me on the mattress,

inching your palms up my spine;
you stood up next to the window,
asked to light a cigarette.

maybe, if i'd let you,
a girl in the shower a few floors above
would be rubbing your smoke
into her skin.

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