Sunday, April 8, 2018

Smoke



In the bar in which they used to meet,
I see him, in what was their place;
eyes fixed on the floor-boards before him,
cigarette smoke dreaming upward.

And then I see her sinuously, in silver tresses,
climbing the light; her slender body uncurling
from his downturned head, and I understand,
she, a resurrected soul, is leaving him.

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