Tuesday, March 13, 2012


My lungs are still hot,
burning within,
from last night when I smoked the dirty, little, brown cigar.
Its wrinkled skin fascinated me,
as I gnawed off the end
(my jaw is still sore).
I finally lit it correctly,
so it burns hot, deep within, and
my lungs are still hot.

While my hands were numb
from the cold;
my lungs stayed warm
as the hot ash and smoke permeated
our surroundings.
I am sure the rough bark and innumerable
leaves still reek of our celebration.
The celebration's over, but
I still stink.

What smelled hot and sweet,
now leaves a white film at the corners of my dry mouth.
My breath smells of grandfathers and construction.
I tried to cleanse myself,
so as not to stink my bedsheets, but
my lungs are still hot.

It was cold, freezing cold last night,
but the sun is beginning to warm the day.
Today, the air will smell sweet
and last forever.



Luís Rosales said...

Great poem man, but have you ever smoked one of those big cigars? Like The Godfather type of thick cigars, Lol They taste good.

Good Job again, keep it up.

Adrian Neibauer said...

They are definitely an acquired taste!

I appreciate the comment. Thanks for reading.