I could give you all
my bread
& my spine to
break
but you still prefer
the familiar
taste
of a sour breath that
leaves not much for any
sustenance

& so do
I

now all my words
are running
dry
you leave me with only
images of the
moments
that will not ever
be
& I can only
put so much of it
to paper
without the desire
to weep

I've become uninspired

where are you
tasteful
muse
?