the cigarette burns as it touches my lips, a warning ignored. with the burning in inhale, savoring every second of what flows through my longs and through my vanes. it sits mounted in the ash stray, ignored, waited for me to return, and take a second chance. every inhale a step forward, a thousand words in a conversation will never need to speak. a friend and a lover. this is not romantic. as i breath i realize, it is me, and i it. a love affair ive had too many times before, always calling for just one last second, sending its breath along my side and across my face. if it could im sure it would smile, and laugh, and show me all the things i loved bore i left. a friend with no desires, or ambitions, simply there to please; and kill. the only double edged sword i could ever devote my self to.
these words are timeless, i could write them now, two weeks, two years, or five years from or to now and that would still have the same meaning. beauty love, and passion. all lost. lost on me, lost on my devotion, and certainly, mostly, lost on these words, written to burning inanimate objects, not alive, but living, burning diapering, as i soon will. bliss? still watching. soon ill see.
good night.
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