Cigars Poem by Christian Allen
Cigars
He sat with his fingers interlocked,
Staring at me from his office chair.
I will make you a deal,
He said with smoke seeping from his lips.
The cigar hanging from his mouth.
Sunday, August 30, 2009
Topic(s) of this poem: lips,staring
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8/28/2026 5:05:09 AM # rel_20260827T145718Z_a0f1bd3
