The last strands of life ebb away – reach for the stars,
As your lungs – punctured – heave helplessly,
Seeking only to give up.
Can you recall, now,
That you had promised to meet me
Tonight – at the Taj – in the usual place?
I shall await you there, then
(Your Martini and my lemonade),
Recalling how you kissed me on the phone this morning
And declared – again –
You would never leave me!
I shall order your steak and my salad,
And nod at the (understanding) liveried staff;
I shall watch the candles glow warmly
In the subtle décor we’ve never really seen.
The surreptitious glances will seek to pity me –
But I shall meet them all with a smile.
And you will grace the ocean depths, bits and pieces of torn flesh
Scattered, with my bullets. And the ashes
Of my naked negatives.
The lights will dim. Eventually, polite yawns will move towards me.
I shall touch, fondly, the bundle of notes still in my purse,
Bid farewell. And breathe anew.
* * *