Their breath dances in sultry clouds of dusky white.
I watch the smoke, enchanted by the forms it takes.
Gentle huffs send light, feathered rings into the night,
To dance their way into spiraled oblivion.
I reach to put my hand through one’s empty center;
A hazy filigree plays around my fingers,
While minor keys wash over my arms, cool and light
It’s these mystical, sensual, fantastic shapes,
I find so fascinating, that fix my sight.
There are no words I can use, no lines I can draw
To perfectly capture the spirit of this thing;
Ink will not hold it, nor will the folds of paper.