"Smoke", Erica Jong

The last time I got stoned,
turning the pages of memory as if they were a book,
I wrote with smoke
in the margins of my life
knowing that the future and past
are all one
and that the moment NOW is all we ever have.
Looking for lovers on the blink rims of our eyes
writing with smoke on the ceilings of our lives,
a paisley curtain that never stops moving, a neon sign that never stops blinking --
mind expanding to eternity
with or without us.
Oh, smoke --
that we are and will become --
let me follow your spirals to the light,
leaving my body behind,
leaving my mind.