And so
I sat
in our spot,
his and mine,
and
tried to recall
a time
when I did not love him,
when I did not miss him,
when my body
was not so sick
with the poison
from the
spitting cobra
of his
memory.
And I found I could not.
May 25, 2016
May 25, 2016 at 5:07 PM UTC
