Ascending from her lit cigarette,
forming gray clouds above her head,
filling the tired dragon’s mouth with acrid vapor
spilling out of cherry lips
the soft tendrils of blue-gray swirl upward,
lazy tentacles from some wispy monster waving to passersby.
A sigh lost in the late night noise of the city.
She lights another.
The tentacles become strong and new,
seizing her around the throat.
How hard and lovingly they press.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Jodi Barnes is an undergrad majoring in creative writing. She writes in small blots of disorganized urgency whenever inspiration strikes.