Ash Wednesday

candle 3
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

A single beat, a breath
since I held the unclothed
flame to the wick;
 

brief crackle of blue sulphur
before the waxy melt yielded
to cool, clear glass.
 

Standing by the stove,
you lit a cigarette,
apologising,
 

as you removed the tiny
tealight and replaced it
with crumbling ash.
 

Tonight,
hundreds of miles away,
I flickered amid female faces,
 

circled by the tinkle
of long-stemmed
wine glasses,
 

washed in the amber
swirl of familiar laughter,
and no-one
 

lit a cigarette.
 
 

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Filed under Free Verse, Poetry

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