Along with my coffee my lover goes cold sitting in the chill of the September wind. His eyes scream bitter words to me. No longer is he the kind heart that I love. The warmness of his presence was gone with the summer sun.
I long for him not as an infant longs for her mother's touch, but as an addict longs for her drug.
He once made me burn the light of a fire on Christmas morning.
Now, I'm rotting in the fireplace.