A Dream on the Tongue

The pipe tobacco was stale and dry, quick to light, quick to burn, acrid on my tongue, and I could take no pleasure in it, though I filled my mouth with its burning until I could feel the nicotine at the base of my skull, and then I tamped the still glowing dottle onto the stone of the stairway, bright embers, like red and angry stars, and I tamped them out, one by one, with the bowl of the pipe, and I let the scotch cover the smoke’s bitterness, for a moment, and when I could taste it again, it was mixed with peat and oak and alcohol and something I could not name, like a face in a dream that has filled the whole of the night and left it resting on my tongue.

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3 comments
  1. Curtis said:

    Hey Luke,

    I was not very eager about this, it felt like a bad intro to a mystery book, I think they’re all bad to be honest, until I got to ‘red and angry stars’ and it just got real neat, don’t change it though, I think it needs the first part to success on the following lines.

  2. Curtis,

    Maybe I should try my hand at some detective genre fiction. Is there money to be made there?

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