Smoky Secrets

She was a scavenger of secrets
A high mistress of the vignette
An adept concealer of regrets
"Now where's that cigarette," she says
My Love you know we are that match
As she murmured, "Heaven is a nicotine patch."
She lit a match across my palm and laughed
I coughed a verse, 'Dear please do your worse, nothing better suiting."
The veils of smoke she wore as though a universal dress
Spiraling nebulae of light involving intricate spider finesse
Lacing her fingers through mine, intertwining triplets too, eyelets
Her go awhile to smile the snow in file did show a shadow in the trees
So deep were we to hinge our bets
An adept concealer of regrets
A high mistress of the vignette
She was a scavenger of secrets



Poetry by Chaucer Whethers The PoetBay support member heart!
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Written on 2016-03-04 at 19:16

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