ever since the grass turned brown,
each day has gotten more
and more cold. I walk with you
boots scuffing on the pavement and the swish of
your heavy parka. Thick glass eyes
stare back at me
and I can see the start of an infection,
a thin bloody line running straight from the tear duct.
Nobody is sweet anymore.
No body is sweet anymore.
There was only one person who would wake up in the middle of the night and kiss my back when they thought I was sleeping
and it's not you
sticky treacle running from your lips.
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