"Things..."

The cool flame burning in ruby red glass...
Charles Aznavour serenading my lonely night...
Remembering your hoarse whispers...
And your contagious laughter...

The sunlight through green depression glass...
Seeing a blonde woman in a small black dress...
Waking up at 3 a.m. and watching the clock...
While smoking two cigarettes...

Through these things you steal my present...
And bring back all that was...
And I am hungry for you again...
Without the recipe...

2001 poetheart

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