Misawa Afternoon


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.

Categories: Haiku, PoetryTags: , , , ,
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