02/11/2020 stephanerobert

Plague of Yewe

 

Been a month now
since you left

but I still can’t
wash your scent
off my sheets
off my chest
the taste of you
on my tongue

tonight,
even my
god damn
glass of wine
tastes like your lips

your lips
they never stopped
always kept going
should’ve called you the
southbound to nowhere
since you went as fast as
a train about to derail
you’re a hot mess
boiling to a roar
about to crash
and
burn

I wish you well.