hookah

So languidly does the smoke rise from my contorted mouth after a big inhale. The freedom and pace the smoke embodies is what I wanted in certain moments. When I let it all out, it would stream through my lips like a river, shaping itself around the fine patterns of air-flow as the water does to its scattered rock bed. Watching smoke unfold over and again is like a sped-up rendition of a flower in bloom minus the pretty colors and instead of decay it simply disappears from sight.