Who are you after midnight?

Who are you after midnight?
After someone else turns off your light?

Who am I when
smoke follows me
through the air
and I hope
I don't get it
in your face
because I would hate
not to see you clearly.

And I live so loudly
that my neighbors
can even hear me
say your name
over the phone.

"What's that sound?"
Oh, it's you -- breathing.