Bittersweet is the moon that dips below it's fate
Sinking into itself behind the horizon of the lake
Radiance of the sun shines momentarily on it's face
To light up the dark of it's visage, then it falls away

She smelled strongly of coffee and cigarettes.
Was that the last time that we met? I forget.
I dreamt about her breath, her beautiful face.
They still permeate every single membrane.
I wake, my fingers ache to lay on soft skin.
*But emptiness fills the air, and she isn't there.

I wish I were a cigarette
Perched in-between your perfect arched lips
Breathe me into you
I'll swirl in smoke tendrils around your face
And then I'll happily fade away
Until you light up another later
Being your bad habit isn't so bad
If that's what I am to you,
I'll take it

All the days are graying and I'm fraying like the sweater my grandfather gave me.

It still smells of cigars and old west, I'm ever quested and pressed with emotion.

I've become a faded flower fated to the pages of an old almanac in the back of the library.

Scents of worn novellas standing solitary on shelves and fragrant wisps of wisteria.

Alone to settle and mettle with dust and dialogues full of empty follies and triumphs.