Every day
I see her
from behind the glass door
sitting in the cobweb-covered
camping chair
on the deck
she sits
alone
smoke curls sensually
from her nostrils and
rounded lips
every now and then
she taps her cigarette on her
flowerpot ashtray
knocking away the ash
Soon
the pot will be full
with the remnants
of her vice
Soon
she will come inside
and convince me
to drive away
with her
to another city
on another adventure
the air full
of burnt tobacco
and nicotine
Momentary Lapse Of Sanity 