He was haunted by a diminuendo
that would not fall;
a pristine face casting shadows
onto shadows.
Under a slide show sky
they sat on foreign doorsteps,
always anxious to escape,
reverberating their demise
in due time. He would ask
for his pink lighter back
while she slipped it behind
her to provoke a flirty
charade. She spoke of how
she wanted to get out,
leave everything behind,
and he would placate her delusion,
throwing gasoline onto the fire.
And inside he was growing old,
as the slides faded with age.
A wistful echo of unfinshed resolve.
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