Song of Smoke

Song of Smoke
By Kevin Young

To watch you walk
cross the room in your black

corduroys is to see
civilization start—

the wish-
whish-whisk

of your strut is flint
striking rock—the spark

of a length of cord
rubbed till

smoke starts—you stir
me like coal

and for days smoulder.
I am no more

a Boy Scout and, besides,
could never

put you out—you
keep me on

all day like an iron, out
of habit—

you threaten, brick-
house, to burn

all this down. You leave me
only a chimney.

1 thought on “Song of Smoke

  1. Been a while since i read a good love poem (or beauty poem). I appreciated the couplets, the space, the beauty of the line here, the succinct thoughts pitter pattering like a slow afternoon rain. Comparing a woman’s beauty to the start of civilization, to the spark of fire…so correct, seems hyperbolic but beauty is that crucial to life. And we don’t even have to get into the whole beauty/truth; truth/beauty thing. lol. It’s intoxicating. Love the flow of the poem too. Thanks for sharing!

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