The Cold That Remains
We do not speak of passion.
The sky drains from the ceiling,
Stars raining down on our tangled limbs.
(dripdripdRIP)
You have counted every bone in my body,
But the tally weighs in no favour.
I have traced each curve and hollow of your flesh,
But I still don’t feel you there.
We do not speak of passion,
Only the cold that remains.
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