Cigarette
By jonahs cough
- 1616 reads
It is the smell that takes you first,
That gentle odour of dry tobacco,
That whispers into the air
And tiptoes into your nose,
Moistening your tongue
And quickening your heart.
Then the touch of it,
The thin paper strip
That has waited so impatiently
In some dark and flameless corner
Of your coat pocket,
Now a soft, white temple
Carefully resting
In the deep valley
Between your index and middle fingers.
With a spark it comes to life,
And with grace
It loses itself to smoke
Dancing on a broad stage before your face
And slipping elegantly
Into the fleshy depths
Of your lungs
Where it settles
And begins its long,
Internal massage,
So desperately needed.
But it is not the promise of lung cancer
That gives this cigarette
A bitter aftertaste,
Rather it is the knowledge
That this one was lucky,
It happened to find a lover,
Someone willing to finger its full length
Someone who would allow it in as a welcome guest
With whom long and pleasing evenings
Can be shared.
But oh so many
Fall into the hands of coughers
And children,
Amateurs and buzz seekers
Who simply do not realise
That on lighting a cigarette
They are bringing to life
A goddess on their lips.
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Comments
Interesting take on this
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Ah now I really want a
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Many a true word is spoken
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