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.
