Smoke

Smoke rises

Under the crescent moon.

White smoke

That fills the air

With its acrid flavour;

That fights itself

In whorls and twists,

Snaking upwards,

A venomous trail

Feeding on the pristine

Blue above.

 

I look to the sky,

Shamelessly unremorseful.

Reviews

[Beatrice Mars]

I love this, it's so calm, but at the same time it's sort of acidic..can't think of a better word. Love it.