by Anthony Ward
She used to be smoking
Smouldering upon the screen
Her image burnt into my thoughts
Scorched upon my memories
Her bespoke beauty
Tailored to my tastes
In perpetual defiance of age
The brightness of her countenance
Shining down at me in lunar splendour
Dazzling my vision from the fissures
That would come to resemble bark
In later years
Stubbed out on my mind.
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