Burning matters

Burning red ambers
of tobacco,
the white of the paper,
held gently in my hand,
more precious than the rings,
I wear,
the rings, I release of smoke;
Boiling down thoughts,
strangely mixing with the rising air,
that has missed my lips;
And the disturbance that rises,
from inside of me;
Trembling hands that steady,
the breath;
with hungry puffs,
sucking on the bud;
Assimilating reasons for the broil,
never once hesitating,
to drawing-in every bit of it;

Watch me exhaust,
with each cigarette in my pocket.

© soulreserve 2015

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