The Pipesmokers

And there were the pipe smokers
and the writers
twirling the idea of love 
about their finger like smoke
sucking in a dragon's breath
for the air here, was too tainted 
for the quiet romantics
too unclean for the virgins
so until someone, stomps on our
rose colored glass
howling Mazeltov 
and preceding to use it to carve out 
our eyes
I will stay blind and warm in the outlandish
belief of tenderness as the
batting eyelash of love
even when life is cold and crowded with rats
I will at least thank the light
and I will thank the pipe smokers and the writers
for twirling me about their finger like smoke
for in the name of celibate hope
questioning love is believing in it. 

-anna sluder

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