I
grab a cigarette, I fiddle with it, I put it down. I pick it up again, a
thought becomes a face, I measure how much emotion is there. I light it. I take
a drag. I put it out. smoke wafts, it dissipates, I smell an odor. I feel a
sensation, I feel mystic, I remember the day I laid cares for her. such a flare
for skies, such a stream between two, it’s truly amazing—as art is internal,
pictures are mental, through an image—two come to commune. many dreams, many
nappy manes, many lucent moments. so florid inside, a floret emotion, so
astounded by her waves, her woes, the paint on the concrete. taking grout,
mortar, singing to freedom, messaging the heart—the darkness, aside light, with
illumination permeating interior. to hear the flint in her voice, to see the
cage breaking, or life measured on a scale. so many cultic cries, or casual
eyes, listening while pains die. I relit the cigarette. I felt milk inside. I
tasted honey. I inhaled with trepidation. I tasted nicotine. I felt
uncomfortable. I kept with my course. some freshet, mellow into me, remembering
the caress of indifference.
