Smoke

 

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.

The End

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