a cigarette is a peculiar thing
it takes me to a different place
with every frail breath I take
I see my mother on the porch
a pack of Camels in her hand
the hand I longed to hold
I see you standing in the rain
a glowing ember near your mouth
the mouth that I longed to claim
I see him leaning against the wind
a Spirit in his hand and his heart on his sleeve
a heart that I longed to understand
I see her gazing out my window
the lighter illuminating her fragile bones
bones that I longed to trace
a cigarette is a peculiar thing