In daylight I just stand there
by the window, waiting
for you to use me

again to shed light
on your desperate little life.
I am the cigar too thick

for your lips. The tar
darkening your molars
and the nipple you

thought you made hard.
You sleep with the cut-out
tracing paper of your wife

material creased between
the sheet, ghost the flame.
I burn the house down.