In these vacant palms — cradled by the essence of my aspirations;
I clung to you with every enduring emotion, trembling and slick
with the weight of nostalgia, far beyond what could be deemed
ordinary, or wise in grasping at faded recollections.

My throat feels parched; I gulped down a swarm of love bugs,
hoping to replenish the affection I’ve lost — lost lovers. My
fingers bear the scars of nervous habits, raw and gnawed down
to the quick; the restless heart fears that the sharpness of love
might not pierce me as it once did.