kissing the mist on his whisky glass ..



while in those deep dark woods of the early dawn’s gloom

amidst a dense fog and chill air,
you are lying beside the burnt down ashes,

the smoke coming out of last night’s fire

around those dry leaves and dark mud beneath the huge barks,

hardly you could open your eyes the lids so tight and drowsy,
deprived of sleep the stoned you could ‘nt get up

out of weary and whole night of scripting alongside your cognac,
your eyes could barely open nor see anything around

though you still try and half opened lids could see

the sort of trees tilted, your black ash tray with a few white buds,

ashes and specks oozing out the last bit of smoke,

you could see your lady dancing in curves eluding you in the deep woods,

instigated by the emanating edge’s curvy waves

to a slender long arc of his lady’s moves

so exquisite and so delusional goes her ways oozing and swinging,

kissing the mist over his whisky glass in the prevailing hazy gloom.

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