Exquisite was the
Smoke on his lips.

Exquisite was his body,
Drawn in
Careful lines,
Forming sturdy,
Slender build.

Exquisite were the
Nicotine pipes,
That held the chemical,
As it raced around
Inside him,
Lifting that weight
That brought out
The frown lines.

Exquisite was the
Cigarette,
Lit and burnt,
Disappearing down
The throat.

Exquisite was how it
Looked,
Clean coming out of
Crisp pack,
And then burning *****.

A continual paradox
Because one
Blurs into five
While we talk.