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.