Cigarettes After Sex

As I lay exhausted on the bed, the bed sheet lying carelessly over me, covering only what was required, I lit the cigarette in my mouth and I rolled it with my tongue.

She lay by me, turned to the other side, half uncovered. Her bare back, promising as forever, wanting to be caressed.

I ran my finger down her back, tracing the letters of inexperience, which made her turn back and look into my not so teary eyes. A puff of smoke in the vicinity.

She turned around, her hands over her bosoms, although most of it visible. My mouth opened in awe, over the magnificent beauty that she hid behind those clothes that lay down the floor, torn mostly out of the urge.

Her lips were red, the lip paint now spread over, like blood over a sacred tomb. Her eyes swollen up, and I can see those dried up tears, that I never let fell down.

As the smoke rose indifferently, aromatic, tender than the smell of rose, she came close. She touched the scratches over my chest, that she terribly carved with her fingernails, blood dried up. I could feel, they were not the only one. I could sense that burning feeling all over my back. She has been cruel and inconsiderate over using her nails.

The grey dust, weeding out with every puff I took, seemed to heal those wounds, making scars of the passionate love that she had shown.

Her body, turned blue, mostly down her neck, and other parts, too decent to be revealed. She woke up, with the wrinkled sheets, in a vain attempt to hide that temple of which I was the lusty priest.

As the ashes fell down, disintegrating into the magic dust that flew right by her, making her more elegant in the dim sunlight that found its way through the dusky curtains.

She stood in front of the mirror, her hairs covering half her face, when she let those sheets fall on the floor to eat dirt.

My gaze interlocked with those fine curves, the delicacy that she was, the redness over her fair skin. The cigarette burning, reducing in size, vaguely noticed, when our eyes met. She raised her brows, bending those lip lines.

She walked towards me, that majestic walk, her walk a little trembled. That exhausted feeling in her motions, as she closed towards my numb body. She bent down, her lips in the vicinity of mine. She took the cigarette between her two fingers, and kept it between her lips.

I have never seen a cigarette so beautiful and I have never longed to smoke one like the one that she had. She took a long puff, and all I remember was her lips on mine. The smoke that we shared, never had any tasted like before. A sweet essence, that went right down my static nervous system.

She took another puff, and smoked it right over my face. My dead body paralyzed, as I reached for her.

She tossed the unburnt piece, still burning, flames shivering, the dense smoke rising. I closed my eyes, trying to hold on to the feeling, the smell of her breath down my nostrils.

I laid down again. Lust changing into love. The cigarette and its aroma withering away and the longing for another round of prayer.

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