Rings of smoke
..…I create them.
Every time I light a cigar there is a suppressed fire within…
With all that ash that falls off the other end… my lips becomes ashen too.
In the darkness coughs try to be silent, blood tries to be black.
With every puff I get closer to selective amnesia….
I like the smell of the nick in my fingers...
Lighter has become a solitary asset at times…
When I walk in and out of smoke…
I am wary, my friend, of the torture to my body
But the bitterest coffee tastes bland...
And cognac tastes new without the ciggi….
You say I have become a masochist???
Oh! For the benevolence I offer to the tobacco farmers…
*****
Coffee…..
Bitter and sweet!
It murders some sleep they say…
an accompaniment with that fog of cigar…
Her mouth does not smell any better.
It burns some tissues of her tongue.
She has it too hot, may be.
Nonetheless,
he likes to smell her.
Nonetheless,
he yearns to be with her and her cup of coffee.
Coffee…..
Bitter and sweet!
It murders some sleep they say…
an accompaniment with that fog of cigar…
Her mouth does not smell any better.
It burns some tissues of her tongue.
She has it too hot, may be.
Nonetheless,
he likes to smell her.
Nonetheless,
he yearns to be with her and her cup of coffee.
