A Riddle Poem

A riddle poem - - - - - - - - - - Nodding a polite face On a chilly December evening It warms you up Close to your glossy-dull surface Of your skin, it cuddles up Through your fingertips It laces to make a nest in your heart And claims younger lungs at last It rings around your face and nose And seduces you to its addiction close Its prey your delicate mind becomes As after your oxygen it runs It's the black child of a white father A wingless bird flying Even to clouds further Closer to it you come, you shed tears Spending for a moment with it Makes you feel cool and collected As in ignorant bliss you are left suspended But the longer the company The greater is the chance To be withered at its hand Now tell me what it is, my dear friend