a man of menthol connoisseur

    body attuned, he sat there
a cigarette dangled, amid fingers symmetrically aligned
 
and the ash of celestial ember,
they debate on where to fall, drift, scatter,
surrender
     `neath his earthly universe
his bare feet, the tickle of a working man`s skin
slaved to the grind of white collar un`crime`d
have been released to tickle hers …
mother earth
 
a man of menthol connoisseur
he journeys through clouds
of satisfactorily balance; chemicals
they enhance flavor to the spice of life
that invisibly shape him,
morning death, evening afterlife
 
in the hour that awaits his arrival
     `neath the contributions of humanity
he ponders of the simplest pleasures
that cannot measure the depth of his soul,
like an ocean, infinite and tranquil
void of fear or failure to grasp … it carries in gravity
but it`s in the depth of his irises multihued 
where brilliance is found,
embodying a constellation
created by the magnificence of a rumor of stars yet to be structured ~
 
and when he exhales … the plumes
they are like roses
lingering in a garden of the divine