Cologne and Newports

You are Newports on any day smoke fuming from the sleeves of a military jacket coiling like dragon's breath in moonlit air It's mauled interior defines your brokenness and sometimes sometimes it seeps out in the bags beneath your eyes I know you are tired I can read it in the notches etched into your digits like reverse braille if I run my hand across them, they would tell me how many times you almost lost your fingers to the blade Your hands have hurt before but only in the name of rebuke they have marked obedience into backs they have taken material things only to replace them with life long virtues replaced them with thanksgivings always ready on the tips of tongues Do you know I used to think you were a superhero? It seems like a lifetime ago that I thought you a statue of perfection because your exterior was hard as stone Your one true weakness was your tongue perhaps when they doused you in the River of Styx as a child they should've made you drink it too (I will still say that a heel being a weakness is a thousand times better) Was mine in loving you regardless? I loved you with that brokenness you seemed to be filled to the brim with I loved you despite the mumblings under your breath Maybe you didn't think this but I thought that to you I could never measure up A third of my life till now has been spent waiting to see your eyes light when they fell on me and biting my lip when they weren't bright as stars and I thought that way until I realized that I did wrong too So I love you especially in this moment when I hear that when my absence hit your brokenness spilled out in tears down your face Although you weren't perfect all the time the smell of Newports and cologne still tell me you were there