Glide.

Cold. Below 10 degrees perhaps. I knew it wouldn't let me down. I knew it would lift my mood, like tender breeze to feathers. Wings of smoke. What I didn't know, or noticed before, was how smooth, easy, consoling the way the smoke entered and exit my lungs of air. No more scratching. Thorns blunt down. Tranqulity came two breaths late. On the third, the familiar lightness dominated. Late yet more pleasant. Pleasant just as the way it was supposed to be with pleasure. Climax came after passionate foreplay. 

Peace. Temporary peace. False peace. But it's peace after all. Illusionary because peace doesn't exist in this part of the world. Illusionary yet beautiful. And beauty is what I feed on. 

Evanescene. However slight as it seems, it's real, to me.