smoke...

on nights wicked with the heart and silence
when my room is a desolate ship
i see the ghost of loneliness
in the smoke my cigarette make

the little flame at the tip of the stick
burns the rolled paper
and the mentholated leaves of tobacco
and other toxic elements

the graceful curlicue of the harmful fume
reminds me of my longing
everytime my mind conjures belowing thoughts of distances:
(millimeters, centimeter, meters, lightyears)
the distance between the two fingers holding the butt

the cigarette smoke i puff
in straight arrows can never reach you
nor can you feel the relic of my battered lungs
and the secret echoes of my tears
and the smoke cannot tell how much
i want to say I LOVE YOU