Humanity

Cigarette smoked: circles in the January air from her red lips, she made a wish for
the blessings
bestowed to her,
but instead she is the
black lungs.
When the meals are eaten and the tinsel crushed from the fall from the plastic bin, we stare at what is:
And your sovereign hand, dark and spiraled, twists the bronchial tree, so we breathe for more.