Scented candles are popular for lots of reasons.
Everyone has a few; in closets, in cupboards,
Waiting patiently on bedroom dressers.
Some like the pungent waft of fragrance.
Others the quivering light in a darkened room
During a storm when the power goes out.
I prefer the gray trail of smoke
That languidly spirals away
From the black dead wick
Once you blow it out,
Like a snake easing through the grass
In its perfectly natural, inexplicable way
Or a sensuous woman who has mastered the art
Of walking away, seemingly oblivious
To the sense of being watched,
The smoke that never looks back.