We were two weird birds of the same feathers.
One melancholy morning,
you decided to break my wings.
I reciprocated by
poking holes in your chest.
Our love felt mellifluously ephemeral.
Like our favorite memory in a distant yesterday.
We glide eloquently in elegance with no sense of direction.
As you stained my cloudy skies with a craving for disparage lust.
— The End —