She came from smoke
Soft and pretty but suffocating in clouds
said she was from Nowhere
told me it was cold in the winter
so she wore her long sleeved chiffon
and warmed her lungs with tobacco

Her side of the bed always smelled like tobacco
her spit tasted like smoke
always, on Christmas she wore nothing but black chiffon
talked about college in clouds
said she didn't know how she's survive the winter
but Baltimore was better than Nowhere

On Thursdays she could be found Nowhere
Nothing is a crisis behind crushed tobacco
not even purple skin in the winter
but she still traveled in hot smoke.
I tried to track her by clouds
but she blended into the night with chiffon

Some old women wear chiffon
and young girls wing their eyeliner and tell their parents they're going "nowhere"
but no one captures her same collective cloud.
When I hide behind a cigarette, the tobacco
and clean saliva makes different smoke
strings, some say it's better that way; but they don't like the winter.

Three years before this winter
she blushed at chiffon
chocked on my grandmother's smoke
wanted to go back to Nowhere
hid her mother's tobacco
and held her head in the clouds

She got too close to storm clouds;
they swirled her into perpetual winter
with nothing to keep the cold out but tobacco
and skin made of chiffon
ripped, running from here and Nowhere,
Leaving nothing but smoke.