The mist filled the room,
Just like the fog in this packed city.
Thick and dark,
All in shades of grey and white,
The screen of smoke would float around the room,
Making it look like I lived inside a cloud.
It mostly smelled like burning tobacco and paper.
It was also how I identified my mother.
When I buried my face in the crook of her neck,
Her scent would be a mix of jasmine and burnt tobacco.
Such is the scent of,
My mother's perfume.
BINABASA MO ANG
Epigrams
PoetryIt appears you've found my book and before you decide to read it's contents, know that... These poems are everything that is me. (Also the cover was made by my buddy FierroThorne!)
