Night Smoke

The earthy brown tube, the colour of rich planters soil and smelling of tobacco musk, cedar and a hint of earth itself. Smoke curls from the flat end as it turns across the flame of the match, and I inhale. Smoke rushes up between the hand-wrapped leaves, swarming through the hole punched in the end and filling my palate with its heavy taste.
There is a delicious irresponsibility in this rare vice, I know its bad for me and I enjoy doing it anyway.
The cigar tastes sweet to my lips and its smoke musky on my tongue but not too harsh. I draw in a small taste, let it dance across my mouth and exhale. Taking a quick look at the end to see that its evenly burning I shake out the match and toss it to the ground.
I look up at the moon as I exhale another mouthful of smoke, and it dances like ghosting shadows across the glowing white half-orb.
The cool night breeze plays up, and somewhere in the unseen dark an animal howls a lonely desperate cry. Not a wolf or a coyote, some strange bird it sounds to be. Other things rustle and move, shaking the trees and sending whispers through the grass.
My focus goes away from the cigar and I draw too deeply, getting smoke into my lungs. This time the taste is like that of ash, almost burning my mouth with its heat. I cough and spit... this is not how to enjoy a cigar. I draw fresh night air and hold it in my mouth, its cleanliness washing away the hot smoke.

Even things that are bad for you, can be enjoyed in extreme moderation. In the temporariness of life if one never steps outside the bounds, does a few unhealthy things, what do you ever really know about life, or yourself?
I dont want to go into the next world as pristine and clean as I came into it. I want to be a comfortably worn, wrinkled, slightly broken body, that comes in with one engine out, the other smoking and a shit eating grin on my face screaming "who-eee! It t'were a bit longer than eight seconds, but it t'was sure one hell of a ride!".
But not too soon... all things in excess... all excess in moderation.
This is why I dont own a humidor - I dont want a cigar collection, nor do I want them available to me any time or all the time. Once in a great while though, such silent irresponsibilities taste great... on the palliate and the soul.