I’ve always loved
the way smoke curls in long warm tendrils
into the velvet black.
My mouth to yours.
I wonder if it hurts you
the way it hurts me?
Poetry. Photography. Thoughts On The Way Of Things.
I’ve always loved
the way smoke curls in long warm tendrils
into the velvet black.
My mouth to yours.
I wonder if it hurts you
the way it hurts me?