by Lauren Aguilar
Enshrined in smoke, the woman’s eyes
are lined with time.
Haunted by sorrow, her fingers tremble.
They grip her cigarette that
glows and flickers
In the dimly lit room.
It goes out.
She pulls out another.
She blinks away
the loitering smoke and
flicks open the lighter with
a yellowed fingernail.
The wavering flame
dances, casting orange beams
in her dark, reflective eyes.
With each pestilential tryst,
tendrils of smoke
swathe her damaged lungs.
The embers strive to open their eyes,
struggle to blink just one more time.
Slowly, quietly, and without pain,
they softly succumb to ash.
The tantalizing plume draws close
and gives the kiss of death.
