My Happiest Moments With Her

I have

Surrounded myself with people who better themselves for sport,
Who treat themselves like German Shepherds,
Who have had one adult finger raised
To the children inside of them
For their entire lives.
She did not behave this way.

I met her, in all her glory,
The acrid smell of burnt rubber
In the air, to begin my annual autumnal relationship.
Cigarettes stole her natural smell.
Now acidic and buried.

Tragic that I'll never know what it once was.
Probably used to be sweet like baby powder.

My happiest moments with her were when she was asleep.
Before we slept,
I stood in the window, contemplating her silhouette in the dark driveway,
The impudent trail of smoke slithering out into the November air between us.
I looked past her, a structure looming behind her gray sedan.
I couldn't tell if it was a cemetery.
I believe it was.