The Rider
10-08-2008, 12:19 AM
Following the definitive smell of fresh cigarette smoke and the sickly sweet scent of flowers left open for too long
I find you; eyes wide open, lying in Lavender Fields.
When your eyebrows rise up into your ruffled bangs, I comment:
“Such a strange repose, for the time of day”
Exhale.
Smoke rises up and intertwines with itself, or maybe another:
Another caressing your lips, blushing your cheeks, disappearing.
Exhale.
Funny thing with smoke is that only the smell ever remains, a grasping, thrusting scent;
Like the scent of pressed flowers, when one is only accustomed to fresh.
Watching the sensual twist above your head, you open your mouth:
Exhale.
“Why?”
“I am usually laid here”
“There is nothing wrong”
“There is nothing to hide”
“There is no one to hide.”
Exhale.
Stepping outside, the air is clear,
Free from second hand smoke,
Free from second hand perfume.
I find you; eyes wide open, lying in Lavender Fields.
When your eyebrows rise up into your ruffled bangs, I comment:
“Such a strange repose, for the time of day”
Exhale.
Smoke rises up and intertwines with itself, or maybe another:
Another caressing your lips, blushing your cheeks, disappearing.
Exhale.
Funny thing with smoke is that only the smell ever remains, a grasping, thrusting scent;
Like the scent of pressed flowers, when one is only accustomed to fresh.
Watching the sensual twist above your head, you open your mouth:
Exhale.
“Why?”
“I am usually laid here”
“There is nothing wrong”
“There is nothing to hide”
“There is no one to hide.”
Exhale.
Stepping outside, the air is clear,
Free from second hand smoke,
Free from second hand perfume.