sucked in turn

The herbs in my pocket slowly migrated to the table top, an empty wager, enough to pack a pipe or two, sucked in turn, passed from lip to lip, drawn deeply, held tight until a burst of laughter spent another thick grey sweet smelling smoke wafting through the late night gamesters, like the cigar smoke of a poker game except with uncontrolled laughter.

Lord Malinov, Song of Songs

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About Lord Malinov

Lord Malinov, literary author, bon vivant, rogue romantic poet
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