Ash.
D Dónall Dempsey
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The moon
a bauble...a bubble
on your open palm
that you pretend to
blow away.
The photograph smiles
(captures you)
& here too
the moon a halo
surrounds
your golden hair
as if you were a Christian saint
which you...ain’t.
I consigned them
to the flames
watch
your image burn
flames licking at
this photographed happiness
your love
nothing now but
ash
a s h
a s h.
Bu şiiri puanla
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