And as the smoke cleared
it was obvious
the cigarette was all she needed

Is it the continuous beating of the bleeding heart that pumps the blood throughout my body?
Or, is it the red silk sheets that give me the simplest satisfaction as my outer layer is embraced by them?
Could it be the smoke from the sandalwood incense filling up the room, and then mindlessly making its journey out the window?
To me, I’d hope it would be a little yellow house sitting on the edge of the universe gazing it’s open doors out in to the unknown, pondering on the beautiful things of nothing.

I miss no crevice, I neglect no crease.
I indulge in every square inch of her masterpiece.