Cigarette

Lying on your chair,
playing your guitar,
you lighted a cigarette.
The key of all the doors
you had, that night.
Lying on that chair,
while curled smoke
was rising with the blues
the cigarette getting small.
Shaken in your fingers
and on your lips again,
between the whisky words
waiting for a breath.
She was ended
but the smell around you
still remain.
I wanna be your cigarette..


Milla Grace