Long, Slow, Deep

He's smoking again. It slid back into his life so incrementally, so casually he can't pinpoint the exact moment the scales tipped back to the life he left behind. He's off the gluten, off the meat, even managing to get in some running. Well, jogging really. Still, full speed ahead. But the smoking, that's the killer. Literally. It winds it's way into every aspect of his being, who he is, how he feels about himself. He was, is, will always be a smoker. A dry drunk, well, this is the battle with nicotine. The trail of smoke curling out of his nostrils, floating up across his brow, slightly furrowing as his glasses fog over. Ember glowing, crawling up the shaft towards the crook of his index fingers lightly bent, wrist cocked just so. Iconic images of silver screen matinee idols, cowboys, and rebels without causes. Men. Strong, virile, masculine men with Marlboros and Camels and Galouise. Players, DuMaurier, Native Spirit. Rolling papers and west coast bud rolled in with loose leaf tobacco melding together to sate his addictive pleasure. Oh, the battle. The love/hate, push/pull. The self loathing fought with copious showers and endless clothes laundering. Mouthwash, toothpaste, dental floss; breath mints, gum, cinnamon sticks, fresh herbs. Sometimes he manages to fool himself believing he leaves no trace. But she can tell. She knows. A long, slow, deep kiss and she tastes it on his tongue, smells it in his hair, is enveloped by the scent of him on her skin hours after he's left her and she knows. Oh, she Knows. It's back. She says nothing; he feels her disappointment. His failure. His inability to be in control. Her hand slips out of his, the caresses are fewer and farther between. Long nights of necking disappear. She carries candies and mints and hand lotion, anything to mask the resonance of the addiction that stands between them. He's disappointed in himself, feeling beholden, tethered to this demon but he just can't let go. The match strike, the zippo flick, that first drag. Long, slow, deep inhalation, the brain buzz head rush blood vessels dilating. He's powerless. Succumbing. One more pack. One more cigarette then--