Nicotina

[al1963]

Sometimes when I smoke my pipe I dream about my soul mate: a plump woman with a wicked smile, cruel hands, exquisite taste and a cigarette. She'd just sit there smoking and laughing whilst her other hand brought tears to my eyes. She'd know how and why to wear stilettos as the moonlight caught her tobacco smoke and wrapped it in a dream.
She'd appreciate and take delight in catering for my special disciplinary needs – the agony that leads to ecstasy. And as She sat cross-legged I would admire the stockinged knee just above Her boot; the plumes of smoke escaping from Her lips, like all of our yesterdays - out the window.
I can see Her now with crystal glass and absinthe - as under the stars She assumes the role of the Goddess Nicotina.
Al.

[al1963]

I got into smoking because of Bryan Ferry, who way back then could do no wrong. His St. Moritz was always quintessentially elegant: the gold band against pure white paper. Jeremy Irons smoked Silk Cut – one after the other. And so it was that I too first took the air in a tobacco trance. Back then it was Dunhill International, virginia plain - in the elongated red box.

At about the same time I discover the pipe and I've never looked back. Hours of contented enjoyment: whether at home or abroad, alone or with friends. And I love a great coffee with a gentle smoke: heated milk, strong coffee and honey or sugar to taste. Sometimes I add cream and grated chocolate as the steam and smoke coalesce into one.

Unlike Bryan, who has renounced his cigarette, I have promised to give up smoking when I die. When I exhale my last tobacco scented breath I will not smoke again.
Until the next incarnation...

Al.