The smoke and notes twirl,
Mixing about in colour and mist,
The window cracks,
The breeze, and a new less intoxicating smoke
Slide their boney fingers through the crack
Poking holes in the swirls of colour
And dancing notes.
Stroking my leg,
Weaving it's fingers through my hair,
Around my face,
Tracing my features with it's wispy curls.
The window slowly slides up,
Pushing the cold wisps out,
Their cool claws one last time at my face and hair,
They grip desperately to my lap,
Then are gone,
And I find myself missing the cold comfort they bring
