Sweet Dreams

Mirrored from the latest entry in Daron's Guitar Chronicles.

I don’t smoke and I never liked cigarettes. I think one reason I was never tempted to smoke despite my desperate teenage attempts to fit in was that I associated smoking with my parents being stresspuppies. They chain-smoked while they fought.

I form associations easily, though, and the way cigarette smoke smells when it’s leaching out of two toxic individuals like poison gas is completely different from the way your lover’s hair smells when you come home from a club. Or my own hair, for that matter. When cigarette smoke is mixed with the sweat from dancing and hair conditioner and the sweet vestiges of clove and weed and fog machine, it becomes heady incense. Tastes like it when I lick it right off his skin.

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