I watched an exotic woman inhaling the heat of a burning cigarette; she stood in front of her natural silhouette blowing eclectic rings of smoke into the early morning light.

Her eyes remained closed; her body upright and motionless.

The unfiltered vapors of  thought, transforming manifestations from the incantations of familiar frustrations.

She summoned calmness from the root of nicotine; the stillness of her presence conjured Serenity from the unyielding grave.

An exotic woman embraced the spirits of nostalgia, from the lingering ashes.

Published by David W. Jones

Writer. Artist. Sleepless Blogger. Wrestling junkie. Comic-Book Nerd. Every moment is a story View all posts by David W. Jones