Pipe Dream Poem by Samuel Richard Leonard

I like the way smoke tangles up in vines across my face, withering to the breeze in dead elegance and curling with grace. So do you grow in my mind, an impending breath sublime as you push past my lips, but even so, and ever more are you but a thought born in heat, the fire of my desire, by the flick of your flame do I perspire — and I wonder; will I see you here when the smoke clears?
- Samuel Richard Leonard