i do not miss your palms upon my waist
because that's where they never were
thought you were honey, well, sour is your taste
after fortnight your face is blur
i lacked hence never miss the kind words
the ones your mouth failed to pronounce
you will be kept awake by sound of birds
the promise given once no longer counts
i don't take pleasure in your lies
ringing like church bells in my ears
what bounds us lies between the thighs
so i surrender last of my frontiers
i don't strive to forget the kindness
unable to forget what wasn't shown
existence in the state of temporary blindness
is like the wind that chills you to the bone
- февраль 2017