text: I walked a mile to burn you, over parking lots and highways, across crowded children's playgrounds and the greenest of parks, through cricket games and grass half as tall as me, to a place under a tree where a man led me to ask for a lighter for his already-lit joint and to say I'd like a London kisser, a place littered with empty cans and torn up newspapers. It took three tries to light you, my thumb sore from endless fags and holding on to moving trains. Your smoke pooled around me despite how hard I tried to blow it all away, settling in my hair and skin. I immolated you while an aeroplane roared over the music in my head (praying for the death of a man i'll never meet) and cricketers shouted soundlessly, a field away. I watched you burn, cross-eyed, right down to your end, to the very first scrawled letter. It was your idea, really, writing names on cigarettes.