You went as I slept,
slipped away without fanfare.
A firefly glowing back to darkness,
relinquishing that borrowed soul.
The one we found so pleasing.
Back to the boy from Brixton.
Back to plain old David Jones.
The boy with the wonky eye,
with a talent for mischief.
And when the last of your cells
ceases to shine.
When everything that was you
has returned to the air.
We will wonder how it was
that someone so rare,
existed for the briefest of moments.
December 23, 2016
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