Sometimes its the simple rituals that are the most meaningful
Open the package
Lay the cigar on the suitcase
Take the knife, feel its heft in your hand
Press it firmly along the brown cylinder
Draw a line that blooms into an opening
Spill its guts, deliberately and methodically
[The dog is huffing quietly and putting himself to sleep since you are occupied with other things]
Take the brown sweet sliver and hold it between your lips
Licking it slowly and deftly like the most gentle and knowledgeable of lovers
Before it dries completely, crumble the green crystalline flower between the fingers
Separating leaf from stem and filling the tobacco canoe until it overflows
Now the muscle memory, something you practiced many times
[Often in moments of very high stress and under scrutiny; you remember her laughing when you made it too fat in the middle, a wholesome memory for once]
Tuck, tamp, roll, lick
Lick again for good measure
If feeling fancy perhaps unroll and reroll a bit more tightly
Then relief, a flame kisses the tip and smoke fills your lungs
[You feel like you can breathe again]
Simple rituals delineating the end of the day
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