Travel Shorts

I've always liked how smoking sounds
said the poet to the thief
in dancing tendrils
on a bank under
rain. It drizzlingly
mimics
the sounds of small papers
crinkling around their leafy delights
and lights
catching her cheeks.
I check -
she's succeeded.
She sharply sucks
and I foolishly jibber
I write because I have to.

And I don't even know if she smokes.