In the quiet of the night, it softly calls,
A whisper in the wind, a shadow on the walls.
The cigarette smoke curls, tender yet bold,
Telling tales of warmth, of stories untold.

It dances in the air, a ghostly pirouette,
With every breath, a lingering regret.
The ember glows bright, a fleeting spark,
In the darkness of night, it leaves its mark.

The scent of tobacco, a bittersweet embrace,
Cloaking the moments we cannot replace.
Each puff a memory, a fragment of time,
Etched in the haze, both yours and mine.

Yet as the smoke fades, so does the illusion,
Leaving behind a stark, cold conclusion.
The beauty of the flame, the sorrow of the burn,
In the silent whisper of cigarette smoke, we learn.