remembering the deep past
when laughter and music erased the sound.
She lights yet another cigarette,
it's killing her but doesn't care
her gaze leading, as it always does,
to the grand painting on the wall:
red lipstick pout and platinum locks
and Aegean eyes you could drown in.
She sighs, flicks ash onto the carpet
pouring another G&T
to numb existence then stares again
at the alluring painting on the wall,
oh, so little of her remains at all.