The leaves are a dark ruddy green,
but they create chroma so brilliant.
It all takes on a kind of glimmery sheen,
makes my mind rubber-band resiliant.
The paper is soft in my hand,
as I wrap the oh-so-lovely contents.
It smolders like a fiery demand,
as I wait for the magic to commence.
I exhale rings of strange-scented smoke
and laugh like I'm watching a funny movie.
In truth, nobody told a joke,
but the air swirls around like a smoothie.
I see things not there,
to hide things that are,
like the depths of my despair,
at my life so far.
The leaves have power to help me forget
all the things I cannot do yet.
