.:] Clove Cigarettes [:.

Dear Nana came over to spend time with me and brought over some clove cigarettes. Blame me for getting her started on the horrible habit. I know she doesn't smoke everyday. Still, I remember the first time we shared a cigarette after I went to the cigar shop to buy my Sampoerna Extras (the same ones Eric the Bartender smokes). Since then its become one of our bonding moments, usually cloves of all sorts or in times of dire need -Marlboro- which is what my father used to smoke before he quit about fifteen years ago.

But I sat alone last night, watching a movie, with clove in hand and wondering at the appeal. I remember one of my first boyfriends used to smoke cloves. I loved the sweetness and smokiness of his kisses. Its the emotional memory but its the immediate rush for my senses. The smell, of course. A putrid cigar smell to most but a kind of incense to me. The taste, the immediate sweetness on my lips, the wafting heat on my tongue, and yes, a certain dirty flavor after I have exhaled. The sight of the dark paper of the cigarette, red and gold bands marking out the filter. The orange glow of the tip and the darkening of the paper as the oils of the clove seep through. I roll the cigarette between my index and middle fingers with a slow rhythm as I slowly exhale again. A smooth motion that continues like running the silkiness of my legs together after I've just shaved them. I hear the crackling of the cigarette. I'm not sure what causes it but I never seem to notice it in the regular cigarettes that I smoke at the bar with my Black and Blue.

yes, its strange, smoking here in my father's house. but its comforting. Nana knew it would be.