Keila-the-fawncat

. . . Warm wood of a pipe remembers How frail strings of smoke danced and faded Between gentle touch of my fingers. Its depth keeps well known and cosy Aroma of prunes in the autumn, That takes me back home - near a fireplace. While Destiny writes on the water With ashes and breath and dim cinder, Tobacco lays soft honeyed kisses And leaves bitter tasted farewell. It lasts till pipe's heart is awakened By flame of a match once again. June 10 2015