lost in the smoke
as it flutters in the currents
rippling out into the air in the room
fading into its expanse
the spicy rum runs too smooth
over tongue, warming soft palette
and the great beyond
while its spirits rise
and stir their own smoke
within cranial corridors
the night rain tickles both
the cold glass panes
and ears longing for a certain voice
the crack of a memory
as lightning thunders in the distance
being so evident yet so evidently unattainable
when life's warring tides have pulled apart
leaving absence in the numbing peace and despondency
ears still longing for thunder
whatever they can grasp onto in that vacancy of voice
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