Time
My cup of watery tea is almost cold.
I light a cigarette and examine the
contents of a found book of gay erotic writing
The smells of tobacco insinuate me and smoke clogs my senses
I could stub it out for I’m a conscientious smoker,
or I could let it burn,
recline,
take another puff,
and meticulously smother the burning tip in ash.
Smoke.
Big Momma
