A cloud is just smoke from a god bigger than us

With my glasses off I see her as a mountain
She’s bright in the afternoon, though shadows cling to her left, pulling her
Her smile is on break, smoke escapes from her lips but she is still

If she were a beauty, she would be porcelain, but she is real
And I know there is love in her shading, I live there, on her left
Her skin is sallow, sunken as the clouds tuck away the joy
Like smoke that flows from her, sighing out in a breeze

Her hand covers mine in shade and gives a gentle pull
She moves like it’s the last thing she will ever do
And her hand is clammy with the weight of the clouds