The trick of this par"trick"ular (smile) trade is not yet
perfected.
Inhale, gather, pucker, blow.
Repetition masked in the scent of the
pressed and rolled cylinder.
Providing a rhythm to her toil and an exhalation
of her pent-up, bent-out-of, shape-less mental aberrations.
There is simplicity in
learning.
Mastery is when the challenge comes.
For then the point of perfection
is always the measuring stick.
Upward, learn’d ascent she knows and blows and
throws it from a trade to a therapy.
In the rose-tinted haze dissipates it
all.
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