Safety Poem by Cigar Aficionado
Safety
Her Smell, open window calls, she knows.
Smoke drifts, to her amenities in ash.
Mind awake silks soft touch, bluish grey
coiled about, forms her backs curved shape.
Moonlight, peeks through each single hair,
as each were again to live, she reaches for.
Sirens wail, whistles call, voices weep, she is
motionless, breathing out the ash consumed.
Tuesday, May 5, 2009
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5/4/2024 11:48:25 PM # 1.0.0.1119
