i watch Her smoke
it curls up into the air,warm above Her black hair from Her shiny red
lips and flared nostrils. She is louning in a red suaede chair surrounded
by cats. they crawl over Her as if She were the furniture. wearing a
black dress, she is 1930's black and white movie glamour soft greyscale.
i watch Her french inhales,smoke casually drifts from lips to nostrils.
i am captivated by the beauty of Her smoking - natural not flirty- classy
She knows i watch Her smoke. She knows it excites me, but She smokes for
Herself,not for me, i know this.i'm all out of cigarettes, i wish i were dead.
i desire Her, but i cannot touch her. She is not of Her body.
is She real? i cannot tell. i smell Her smoke. We are seperated by
ambigious distance. i watch Her smoke. my lungs ache ache for the smooth
nicotine rush. it's been several hours since i've had tobbacco, my drug
i need it. i need Her,but i cannot touch Her. i watch Her smoke. She is
as delicate as a soap bubble floating in the air ,like Her smoke. She
knows i desire Her. who needs fullfillment? desire is forever.
i watch Her smoke. i wish i could taste Her smokey mouth and feel Her
silver tounge ring slide against my tounge,but We are seperated by a
distance that might as well be miles.
She brushes away cats, and purses Her lips. i sniff Her smokey breath as
She blows a stream of smoke into my waiting mouth. i inhale Her smoke
deep into my hungry lungs.i taste Her smoke and it is Her spirit, distant
but familiar. She feeds me Her smoke from a distance,blowing streams into
my face. it's warm and soft. clouds of Her smoke touch my face and neck
but We can't touch each other. Her lips would burn me. Her smoke enters
my bloodstream, then my brain, realising endorphines in a rush of
pleasure.i wish She could feel this, but She can't. She is not of Her
body. i feel Her smoke in me. it hangs in the air curling through the
distantance and spaces between us.
it's 2:30 am and it is sleeting out. i can't sleep. i think of Her smoking
and i wish i were with Her-even at a distance, but a little closer. not
so close to drive Her away. i am without tobacco till morning,hours away.
She feeds me Her smoke from a distance. i take it inside myself from Her
i wish for my own cigarette, so Our smoke could mix together in the air
, away from my vulgar body, with its desires, drives and hungers.
how long have i been watching Her smoke now? hours? days? -no - YEARS!
i feel so close to Her tonite, but not to Her body. farther away than
ever from Her body. i know She is real and has Her own needs, that i
cannot fullfill. She ia a picture that i have kept because of its beauty.
She denines that She is beautifull. i look closer and scars appear.
thses are not scars of the skin. but scars of the spirit. i see Her true
spirit in Her smoke. i want Her to be free, even if i can never touch
Her body, even if someone else can. She lets me watch Her smoke.
i could quit, if She would just feed me all the smoke i need. i could
receive smoke just from Her,but i know this is wrong. i don't want to
misuse Her, i love Her too much,even if We never kiss,i can watch Her
smoke. i wish i could make HEr feel like that.
i watch Her smoke. what does She get out of that? to be desired?
to be loved even when She is not smoking? does She enjoy smoking for me
sometimes/
Her cigarette is almost out. She places the butt into my mouth without
touching me. i inhale deeply. the cherry glows red then sputters out as
it burns to the filter. i swallow it.
i am clumsy with words like "i love You" "i care about You"
"i'll always be there for You" this is not the same thing as watching
Her smoke, but that's how it all got started
