Well, I never heard it before, but it sounds uncommon nonsense.

-The Mock Turtle

Saturday, December 6, 2008

Cigarette Smoke

The artificial light of the ceiling fan,
Blades stationary; unmoved,
Casting shadows on the drawings on my hand,
And I begin to think of you.

The background hum of the fridge in the corner,
Black scratches, dents on the bottom,
Soothes me slowly, the silent mourner,
Again I think of you.

The cold of the tile beneath my tapping fingers,
The grout dirty and rough,
Brings me to thoughts that will always linger,
I can't help but think of you.

A sweet and sour aroma hangs in the air,
More sour than sweet,
And I don't really know how it gets there...
So instead I think of you.

My tongue glides onto my strawberry flavored lips,
From that worn-out old chapstick,
My hair in my fingers, the scarf on my hips,
All I think of... is you.

© Elizabeth White 2008

No comments: