I take a drag from the last cigarette of the night,
tilt my head back as I stare up at the lightning.

Exhale.

As the smoke smooths past my lips I watch it drift into the still air.

The light catches it in the shadows as it reveals the outlines of a literal nothingness.
The moment fades as the smoke does.

The clouds exchange conversations.

The boom of thunder rolls over the treetops.

The cherry drips silky whisps of calligraphy.
Writing love letters to the oxygen as it diffuses slowly in to the dark.

My lungs ache for the softest part of a warm,
brown filter.
My lips caress it and as it slips away from my face I chase it down with more smoke.

Exhale.

Two bolts of stormy glory let it live on in a particular millisecond in time before it dies out in the night.

I smoke the nights last cigarette and reach away from the world with rock climbers fingers.
Digging in to the cracks of a wall made from oxygen and carbon dioxide.

Exhale.
-P.S.