SmokeA Poem by softiesongbirdIncense is a lovely thing to observe.It curls through my
fingers. Up towards the sky, It grows lethargic as
it gets farther. It dances,
illustrating patterns in eccentric ribbons of purple-gray. I dip my hands once
more, To twist it in my own
grasp. It is the finest sort
of silk. Almost soft before it
leaves to embrace me in sensual warmth. The essence lingers on
my limbs, All burning wood and
faint lavender. I breathe it in
slowly, Savoring every flavor
it provides. © 2017 softiesongbird |
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