Forever, from Dawn to Dusk

Cigarette smoke

1-14-22

The stench of smoke cascades from your presence
filling the room,
Seeking me out
like tendrils striking in the open light, because it is no trouble for them to find me.
The thin talons can see and hear and think and reason, although they can't smell.
But maybe they do.
Maybe they want to share their disgusting aroma with all who will notice,
All who will notice them, even if all those who notice choke on their presence.
The sleek tendrils, if any good is within them, just want to be noticed.

I still hate the smell regardless.