Paris street at night with cars and lights

Puff of Smoke

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.