On an autumn afternoon, I order chai, but she prefers pumpkin spice.
I watch candle-lit shadows dance over her acid pool eyes.
A thrashing storm in my chest, I feel myself be ****** into her abyss
I'm melted quickly; my dying wish is for my remains to fall in her cup so I can meet her lips.
But if I can't have that, then bury me with the leaves and cinnamon sticks.
And at my grave, leave me something pumpkin spice.