Beneath the moon’s soft, gentle glow,
A cigarette burns slow and low,
Its smoke curls in the night’s embrace,
A fleeting dance, a whispered trace.

The ember’s glow, a quiet plea,
In solitude it finds its glee,
A silent friend to those who seek,
The solace in its smoky streak.

Yet with each breath, a shadow cast,
As moments fade, too fast, too fast,
The ashes fall like dreams once bright,
Dispersed into the endless night.

In the stillness, reflections stir,
Of stories told without a slur,
Like smoke that lingers in the air,
A memory, a fleeting prayer.