Soft Chains

My hands,
how they shook
at that beauty,
the nicotine wraith,
drifting silently,
burnt away by the sun and wind.

Already this gentle curtain
of scintillating grey,
it rests on it's divan
before my flushed face.
 Seemingly a soft chain,
pulling my breath from me.

Light peers through it, as a gauzy strip
of exotic silk,
a light caress of ash
coats my throat.
I sicken
my heart quickens,
and a new weave is wept,
like gritty grey tears streaking down that blue sky-face.