Cigars are more than
                                                                                          Dried tobacco leaves
                                                                                          rolled by skilled hand.
                                                                                          Thick surges of luxury,
                                                                                          power, prestige, phallic
                                                                                          encircled, paper band.
                                                                                          Los puros share a glass
                                                                                          of brandy, champagne,
                                                                                          whisky, cognac, wine.
                                                                                          Cigars gently exhale
                                                                                           spirits of curling, gray
                                                                                           smoky breath so fine.
                                                                                           Wrapped like a gift in
                                                                                           brown paper they dot
                                                                                           and punctuate the air,
                                                                                           conducting dialogue,
                                                                                           guiding questions to
                                                                                           left, right, to nowhere.
                                                                                          And with skin like fine
                                                                                          boots they reek of a
                                                                                          forgotten time and sun
                                                                                          until the moment slips,
                                                                                          ashes heat, then cool,
                                                                                          falling off when done.
                                                                                                  Castro now

Lady Smoker