Within the dragons' den—
    the smoke they breathe; twists, turns, spirals
    hea'enward in clouds of tar and ash
    (their mouths gaping and nostrils flared).

Indeed they don't breathe fire—
    They inhale it, swallowing whole
    The ancient gift of Prometheus
    (the first giver of stolen goods).

A wise woman once said:
    'This is the closest one can be
    with said sacred element. Yet
    such intimacy comes with price
    (as with all sim'lar relations).

I see their wrinkled skin
    And hear their deep raspy roar that
    rarely, though spontaneously
    interrupts their philosophy
    (or words of the drunk lay-dragon).