Epilogue
Jolie Laide
There she hangs, his masterpiece and her own,
Immortalised in paint, painted over until,
A finished moment masks all that went before.
This Jolie Laide, new illusion of truth,
breaks the old mirror of imagined beauty and,
Up rise a confluence of feelings
As we stand before it.
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Mourning
Last night a memory came to me; That room, Those stark walls, The facts laid bare. How we sat, My head on his arm, A sudden panicked th...