The smoke from my "stress reliever"
plays about my pen
then floats up, and up, and up...
until it's gone-
just like you.
Sometimes the white smoke
plays tricks with me
(or maybe it's just my imagination)
and forms little images of you
that smile at me-then just disappear.
If this keeps up
I won't be able
to call them "stress relievers"
soon I'll be calling them "reminders".
I have to quit.........
2:32am / 7-5-99
Tout s'en va, tout passe, l'eau coule, et le couer oublie.