Smoke

Incense is a lovely thing to observe.

It curls through my fingers.

Up towards the sky,

It grows lethargic as it gets farther.

It dances, illustrating patterns in eccentric ribbons of purple-gray.

I dip my hands once more,

To twist it in my own grasp.

It is the finest sort of silk.

Almost soft before it leaves to embrace me in sensual warmth.

The essence lingers on my limbs,

All burning wood and faint lavender.

I breathe it in slowly,

Savoring every flavor it provides.