I am lost surrounded by cloud of velvet smoke,
with joy that dims both reality and conscience,
as I retire into the arms of a most willful night.
There’s no denying tobacco with enchantment,
like light breaking from cantaloupe sun.
I sway as though whirlwind in a chestnut forest,
unaware that it’s a mask that engaged my mind,
I stumbled and lost track of both path and time.
There’s no denying tobacco, with enchantment,
like the glimmer of an amorous moon.
But at what cost I thought sighing with the mist
Photo credits: Pinterest
Posted for Midweek Motif @ Poets United