cigar

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).
Last night, I was finally able to light it correctly,
so that it burns hot, deep within, and
my lungs are still hot.

Last night, 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.
Now the celebration is over, but
I still stink.
What smelled hot and sweet,
now leaves a white film on the corners of my dry mouth.
My breath smells of grandfathers and construction
workers.
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.