she comes from smoke
I pull the drug up to my lips
and slowly drag it away,
blowing the smoke into the surrounding air.
the world slows as the smoke quickens.
my eyes see the familiar shape of her lips
that I long to feel upon mine.
the smoke forms a crescent:
her wicked smirk that I'm no stranger to.
an iridescent glow appears;
her all familiar, powerful eyes.
it heightens the beauty
of the ghostly figure in front of me.
but why do I see her?
I question why she's still on my mind,
when I realize I put the drug to my lips
to replace the ecstasy her's provided.
c.d.
YOU ARE READING
1:46 a.m.
PoetryA collection of poems, most written at extremely late, or should I say extremely early, times of the day, when my mind can truly bleed its thoughts onto paper.
