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Nov 2022
To give summer kisses, but they taste like winter.
Called her flower, but every time he's with her,
she will slowly wither.

In her eyesβ€”overwhere it always burns.
But not of passions; just a feeling of her scorned
flesh. Ashamed, close enough to bruise.
Filthy fingers that are winter in June.

Under his toxic powerβ€”oh the death of a flower.
Odd Odyssey Poet
Written by
Odd Odyssey Poet  25/M/Zimbabwe
(25/M/Zimbabwe)   
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