The Venetian Undertaking

Starry nights were supposed to be enchanting

As it turns out, they were now emblematic of him

And he wasn't all that enchanting

No one knew him better than she

a foggy assumption at best

  As the author of his dossier, she found it quite easy to fashion things left or right--or left--

As the curator, she knew all the secrets, had all the photos

even the photo of the women in the swimsuit contest from 1926--

and she wondered why they all had dark circles under their eyes;

somewhere after World War II that emulsion that plagued each and everyone of them had dissipated and the pedestal upon which their eyes rested

now creamy--to say the least

Dossiers

were best suited to be written by someone with an unrequited love

a desperation of sorts

an ubiquitous case of heartache

Despondency was always indicative of an acute knowledge of the underwhelming 

It belonged in a biblioteque

deep back in the stacks--way back in the stacks

where it would have its toxic collision with mildew

as it should

And the secrets, while smearing into the parchment,

would wither away with her nights in front of the mirror,

the ingredients had made her none the wiser

Until one day

in front of it--with eyebags

 having only been left with the remnants of a raccoon attack

She was unrecognizable

as he had always been to her