Like a little beating heart at the tips of my fingers,
a stolen piece of flame all for my own.
Between my lips, its little pulse glows
and from it, a stream of smoke flows.
The smell infiltrates my hair and my clothes,
and the rush of nicotine tingles my body.
My lungs caving from its infiltration slowly,
and oxygen in my liquid blood depleting.
It accompanies me on my walks
and has lit my way along many paths
when the only other source of heat is mine.
Slowly killing me a breath at a time
yet my sweet and savory companion lingers.