Dinner is served.
And what is there more nourishing than the ash forming on the tip of my cigarette? I tell you to open your mouth and to stick out your tongue; and as I flick the ash into your hungry hole, I smile. I know you're mine. The warmth of the ash, that first sting, the taste, the grainy texture, the blackness as it paints your tongue... You can't get enough and so you beg for more. You're voracious for my ash and my smoked butts. I hope you didn't spoil your appetite. Dinner is served! x