Love, lust, sex and cigarettes

Excuse the slightly more obscure postings of late, I have been feeling lyrical…

At some point in my life I will no longer be young,
and that wanderlust in the recent past will become not a memory but forgotten history.
And in history we become ghosts and a poetic whimsy unconnected with the present.
But in love, lust, sex and cigarettes there is a future.

And why in cigarettes the being of death immortalised in smoke and tobacco-paper smoke is there future?
Why in any of this immortal chasing is there any future in the sand-prints of our time,
And if any of those shoreline marks do make the difference
Then a small plume of post-lust cigarette smoke won’t make the slightest dent on us yet.

Life so short of small pleasures which often real ecstasy is replaced with the subversions of solace
And in the birds’ twitter and the squirrels’ scamp lies a crooked eye
Self preservation pulsing and this is the small pleasure of life that replaced lust, love and cigarettes
Cocaine, ecstasy and the riding thump of the darkened night so long ago in those unimportant youthful pasts

Though for youth that unimportant past you look down on isn’t so throwaway
It ain’t so impermanent as to be the smoke from your cigarette that is so gone away by now
It’s the formation of four score and the to be permanent and formative moments of a lifetime
A lifetime of step forward, step back, hand up and hand down, of love, lust, sex, and cigarettes.

You are our past and we are your future, we all want to stamp our mark in those sands of time
But those sands they shift and twist, hell-bent and despotic they stride in the annals of time
We’ll all be forgotten given enough strokes of the big hand.
So why is a cigarette after love, lust and sex so bad after all?