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When she closed her smokey violet eyes
for the last time, her vision was blurred.
Through the haze of scotch and eyelashes,
her films flashed before her rapidly:
a horse, a wedding gown, an oil rig.
A golden throne, whispers of lace slips,
and all those glass tumblers filled with ice.
She was somehow serene when her time came.
Imagining that heaven smelled
like White Diamonds,
she was able to close
her vibrant eyes at last.
Knowing that her incandescent legacy,
captured on 35 millimeter
would flutter and snake
through projectors
and light
on towards