A Cuban cigar

rolled on milky thighs of a 

Havana beauty.

 

Smoke drifts and pauses,

lingering in hazy blues

to match current mood.

 

As the silent sun 

shrinks, a cold breath floats and the

nub warms my fingers.

 

Burning to the ring,

mother should I build a wall?

No, just let it burn.

 

© 2019 Gregory Vessar. All Rights Reserved.