a short poem, inspired by a story told by a girl i once knew

A friend of mine,
From a trip to a faraway land,
A country or realm,
Where I have not been.
As he sat,
On my couch,
Telling me stories,
I opened a plastic bag,
In which were some gifts for me.
Admist the trinkets and toys,
The crystals and the curios,
Sat a box of cigarettes.
I took it in my hand,
It was beautiful!
The label on it proclaimed it,
To be of the finest brand,
Hand rolled,
Pieces of art.
I took one out.
Heaven in paper and leaves.
Perfectly rolled,
Completely stuffed,
With the finest tobacco.
The aroma of it,
Slowly wafting up to my nose.
I can almost see it,
Dangling between my two lips,
With one fluid motion,
I put the cigarette back in the box,
and the box on the Table,
And I say to my friend,
"My friend, I am sorry,
I know you mean well,
But I don't smoke anymore."
The End

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