two embers burning beneath
the kitchen window, smoke
redolent of tobacco and
days long past slip in, unwanted
but not unnoticed
and Winston tastes good, like
a cigarette should, and
there go the two of them,
twinned lights as they
murmer, murmer (of what?)
...too far to hear
and lights flash on and
off as a neighbor walks
past, unshrouding them for
just a moment,
a sudden exposure, then
dark again, those twin
torches coupled in darkness