A Cigarettes Ballet

For all the smokers.

 A Cigarettes Ballet

The smoke dances like a sorrowed ballerina.

Her coils of grey and white

leak through the embers,

swirling into a ghostly cloud.

I breathe her in deep.

 

My chapped lips open slightly,

as she takes forum from rings of poison,

that sneak from my dry mouth.

 

She is quickly escorted by the wind.

 

Her nebulous halos disperse in the autumn breeze,

fusing with the shades of night.

The spectral dancer fades out,

ending ends her slow ballet,

until I puff again.