Acetate Burns.

Memory brings

Acetate films,

Sepia strings. 

Weave. Threaded though

The old stories…

Flickers of You. 

By candle light,

The shoebox full,

Thought fleeting. Flight, 

Flee far away,

Now run along

…another day. 

Acetate burns.

Celluloid melts.

For You, I yearn. 

© 2017, CGT. 

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