A Dream

I dreamt of cigarettes,

of long thin white lines with orange tips like flowers blooming.

I do not remember the taste

I do not think there was one

The taste was not important.

I dreamt of fire at my fingertips,

of slow flames coming closer faster than I could breathe, faster because I could breathe.

The ash at the end of it all

like fallen snow

like a frayed piece of fabric.

I do not smoke.