every street includes his name
my lovers favorite colour and
a short description of the absorbing
movement of smoke rising passionately
above his dark eyebrows
he puffs away expressing his inner-life
in a small unglamorous kitchen
somewhere in suburbia
from the dusky setting
the hidden, the undercover, the invisible
the swinging waves of his subconscious
comes the knowledge we would
most definitely hear his voice again
plop fell drops of humid air on the mahogany
table surface before freezing into snowflakes
Humphrey you were a farce
but a damn good one
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