You are the sweetest of my torments.
You're the tangible torture of citrus
The bite followed by the ****
Fresh and unbearable in the same instance

You're the lemon zest scent;
Sultry, as I quarter fruit
In my hot summer kitchen.
You're the juice in the cut
As the knife knicks my thumb;
The sweetness meeting the wild coppery tang
of blood in my mouth.

You're in the twist in my chest
That exists somewhere between my heart and my stomach
Both organs being wrenched apart...
When I see your picture
And remember that we haven't spoken in months.

It was the color of your bedside lamp that paints the room just the same
when I am seeing you lay there on the bed watching Manchester United game
and when I move my leg inside the blanket we share to keep you tight
you'd give me that "I am here" smile and kiss my forehead goodnight
then when the morning knocks, I will find you still counting sheep
and I will find myself exhumed by the whisper of your sleep

I once told you
how passionate I am
when it comes
to my one and only vice

With that, you retort
"Alcohol is never the answer"
and with that statement, I ceased
for in you, I believed

Before, only wine can make me high,
but our happy months came by,
surprised at how you made me high
With you, I reached the sky

A single drop, my lips didn't touch
but when you left
the only thing, it became
my lips ever reached

Now that I ponder on it
I should really cease
doing my newest habit:
thinking of you

The I love you stopped a long long time ago. Sometimes I'm tempted to say those three words just one more time. Sometimes when we're together the piercing words almost spill out but in a instant I stop myself.
I stop because I know how you'll reply.
When I hear those two words come out of your mouth I'll be crushed because that was the inevitable outcome for me saying I love you one last time

’Twas noontide of summer,
  And midtime of night,
And stars, in their orbits,
  Shone pale, through the light
Of the brighter, cold moon.
  ’Mid planets her slaves,
Herself in the Heavens,
  Her beam on the waves.

  I gazed awhile
  On her cold smile;
Too cold—too cold for me—
  There passed, as a shroud,
  A fleecy cloud,
And I turned away to thee,
  Proud Evening Star,
  In thy glory afar
And dearer thy beam shall be;
  For joy to my heart
  Is the proud part
Thou bearest in Heaven at night,
  And more I admire
  Thy distant fire,
Than that colder, lowly light.