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

David is a writer and blogger who enjoys creating literary expressions about everyday life. He is a published poet and currently doing reviews, creative writing, and storytelling. David's interests include narrating point-of-view scenarios, documenting non-fiction, and writing scripts for film and television. View all posts by David W. Jones