poem number 121

poem # 121

his lips were as eager
as yours, sweeter than
the candies you gave me
as final peace offering;
his tongue, more pliant
than my patience I had
for your errors; still,
the affection remains
a tainted window, and
the winter stays, the
spring, frightened, the
summer delayed, the
autumn, betrayed. and I
return to my cup of tea.

#

This poem is still subject for revision. I just noticed, I've been using the word tongue in two consecutive instances for poetry purposes now. Weird.

poem number 121