Eight steps away,he stood,
Amidst the smoke, he smoked.
His veins popped Green,
Over his wheat like skin.
I place the hand beneath my chin,
Metaphorizing his apparent age to mine.
Remember those delighted little girls,
Tossed,tickled and furled.
Their young adult neighbours,
Perquisitely whom the dolls favour.
The gaze that they give at them,
From beneath with heads up and a long stare...
Those cigarettes make me rhapsody
