Djarums

They taste like the good times.
When we didn't have money or cars
and when we walked around town
talking about the universe.

​Back when I wouldn't
and couldn't breath them in
and would only taste the sweetness
of the wrapper and smoke on my tongue.

They taste like the best times
of the summer before I left,
when we would sit at the old asylum
and burn holes in the pages of my journal
because I didn't want us to burn the grass.

I smoke these clove cigarettes
in and all the way
to remember the good times
and wonder where they went
and where it all went wrong.