. :Disquieted: .

 

Smoke drifts lazily

from the end of your cigarette

in a casual upward spiral.

Behind us,

the clock ticks the minutes past

and a hunk of ash falls from the incense

into a gilded tray.

Your fingers brush through my hair

pausing only briefly

when the music stops,

filled by the dissonant whispers of a silenced record.

Your brows furrow

in what appears to be confusion

as though you’re slowly coming back to reality

from the distant tenderness you attempted to express.

I light another cigarette for you

and reset the record.

In return, I am rewarded

with the gentlility

of your fingers against my cheek.

And then you’re gone again.

 

– Savannah

 

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