Do you crave me like you crave a cigarette?
Do you yearn to put your lips on me
like you yearn to wrap your lips around the beautiful
white stick that allows itself to enter your mouth
and run deep sea down your throat?

Do you crave me like you crave a cigarette?
In the middle of the snow
falling lightly on your shoulders,
do you feel the urgent need to breathe me in
and fill the holes found in your chest?
And after one or two puffs,
do you feel the same amount of hate and regret
that you felt the day you came to church with me
and sat in the wooden brown seat
while a priest said words you would never care to understand.