CIGAR VANILLE

In a velvet dusk where shadows linger,
a match is struck—
and the air blooms with smoke and spice.
Heavy with memory,
a whisper of old libraries,
leather-bound and low-lit,
where jazz crackles in the silence.

Vanilla curls like a silk ribbon
around smoldering tobacco leaves—
sweet, but never innocent.
It is warmth poured from a crystal decanter,
amber-honeyed and slow.
A fireplace flicker
in a winter drawing room
where time leans back in a velvet chair.

Tobacco Vanille does not speak—
it drawls,
deep and unhurried,
a confident hush
that lingers on the skin
like the last note of a song
you almost remember.