My Smokey Poet
| filed under: Poems, Poetry
I guess I used to romanticize smoking French cigarettes.
she exhaled the smoke
tendrils around her face
her lips pouted for a
second and i met them
i tasted the smoke on her
tongue in her mouth, i
nuzzled her and smelled
it in her hair, I lingered
drunk with the breath from
Gauloises Blondes Légères
and red wine taken not in sips
but in smooth draws from
the glass of gato negro.
they say it is ugly to
breathe the breath of one
who smokes like licking an
ashtray, yet the we smoke
more now to taste it on our
lips in our mouths, to sip
of the wine to inhale the
smoke, to share the living
breath and simple pleasures.