She’s swirled in black and red Silver about her wrist, Legs crossed one beneath the other A cigarette falls from her fingers. A perfect white smile Such perfectly placed hair, Her laugh that's infectious. I Adore The irony of her story She’s trapped inside her own despair. Photo taken by Leroy Stewart who said he had found the next Modern American Poet. Perfect and with grace, Lies beneath the surface, The photo in which I stare. I Adore But there’s another side, a women looking in the mirror, cigarette in hand, vodka in the other. Hair out of place, lipstick on her cheeks, the medicine cabinet is open, the pills she's about to seek. One after another they fall on the floor, the cigarette had burnt out. There never was anything more and I adored never more.