The Best Thing

I saw you with  
         a half-drawn cigarette
     between those vintage fingers.

Who did you lie to? It wasn't me, I wasn't there.

I'm sure you
keep your old lace dresses locked up,
pearls and ribbons and smoke.

It doesn't matter, I wasn't there.

Those words weren't yours. I know,
I've heard them before. That meant something
to me before it meant something
to you. And you laugh and you tap
your ribbon-red, ash lips
and you say,

I could say the same.

And I blink my lacquered eyes. I whisper with vulpine pleasure,

You're killing yourself, you know.

But I lie, I lie,
You're killing me too.