Where There's Smoke
I don’t smoke. Not usually, that is. Not day to day, not sometimes - but I have to admit, every once in a while there’s something very sensual about having a cigarette...
The crinkle of plastic film as I unwrap a new pack...
The pungent aroma of fresh tobacco...
The long slim cylinder sliding between my fingers and then my lips...
The distinct click-click of a lighter opening, or perhaps the flare of a match...
The hot, burned taste in my mouth, the fullness of my lungs...
The sultry way the smoke dances in dim light...
Be my footstool as I settle back to relax. Be my ashtray and catch the warm, charcoal residue in your mouth. Watch the glowing ember as it flares and smolders, until it burns all the way down to the filter and is then snuffed out on your wet tongue.
I don’t smoke. Not usually...