The Man and Smoke (And My Obsession)

The red of his cigarette lit up and between his lips came smoke. His eyes were coal and embers in one and it was tantalizing.

He stood there without a care and took another drag. His eyes lidded as the smoke filled his lungs and I wanted to be that smoke. I wanted to be what he was breathing, I wanted to be what he depended on.

The half-done cigarette was tossed to the ground and his boot stepped on it, putting it out. He turned to walk out and I still that smoke clung to him.

Walking by me he smelled like that tainted air and I knew I’d die to be that smoke. To touch his lips, to fill him, and to be imprinted on even the air surrounding him.


3 responses to “The Man and Smoke (And My Obsession)

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