Her nimble fingers strike the match

Setting fre to the nicotine and the fighter

The first inhale, the exhale

A cloud of smoke unveils through rosy colored radiant lips

She sits on the ledge of her windowsill by potted plants,

Legs hanging over a rusted staircase making the pledge

Heels barely gracing the red brick wall

While enthralling thoughts spin a web inside

Will I ever leave this place, the loss, the love, the stench of sin, the nostagic aroma of coffee,

the sickly scent of perfume on every woman

Is there any place but here

She stares her wanderlust in the eyes,

Will she ever get to Bali, Morocco,

Taste the different cultures, or always be interlaced with burgers and fries.

Inhale again, hold it, slowly feeling the tingling throughout her body, the sweet and sour

Exhale with another thought of freedom and the high, the adventure.

She hears the door shut softly behind her and sees the face she loves so dearly.

Gone are all her thoughts, she grinds the cigarette into the ash tray and what truly matters comes over and kisses her on the forehead.