You lean over me
 to reach your cigarettes
 on the nightstand,
 pausing to touch my cheek
 (an afterthought, really-
 -a cigarette is first in mind)
 In the flare of the match
 I see your face
 tenderly lined
 with years of living
 and loving.
 Perhaps
 someday I too
 will be written on your face
 and someone else will read it
 and know me.


   

   
 
   

   
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