Of Sunsets and Cigarettes

A part of you I cut away.
Snipped carefully,
folded and kept
in a box containing
other useless collectibles
like forgotten newspaper cuttings
and old, old photographs.

A part of me just looked away
from all the transgressions
you casually flicked my way
on afternoons and evenings
trimmed with complacency.
I looked away, as one often does.

A part of us sat that day
overlooking the sunset, the sea.
Did it rain?
No, nothing quite so dramatic, I’m afraid.
Just a cigarette smoked in silence
and a polite distance between us
measured with infinite precision.

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