My thoughts are like
a wreath of rising smoke,
an incessant patter of
the chattering rain.
Ascending slowly they snare me into
a grip of steel,
choke my throat steady
with a touch of silk
until
I can think, and breathe
no more.
My thoughts are like
a wreath of rising smoke,
an incessant patter of
the chattering rain.
Ascending slowly they snare me into
a grip of steel,
choke my throat steady
with a touch of silk
until
I can think, and breathe
no more.