Years burn holesinto clothes, branding
age-spots into skin, licking skeletal tinder.
Even minds catch slowly, reduced to less
than air. All of useaten by flames
invisible to the naked eyethat melts
faster than butterat the crematorium.
Then beyond us, time ignites the horizon,
sky charred to ever-lasting ash, sparks
of our expired passionsfrozen into stars.
By Cyril Wong
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