A GLASS OF SPOILED MILK
You had preached a lot of love
But never knew a thing
About having a glass of spoiled milk;
Inch by inch, wrecking the taste of one’s mouth.
Through each mournful shot
Which you pour down your arid throat,
It buggers the gustatory pleasure
Which isn’t an isolated thing;
You came along in sight,
Hastily crashing in;
Claiming to take the very part of me;
Yet lost the best side of it.
And how bittersweet it had become
To have beheld your disappearence
Into the depths of winsome nothingness,
Though I captured its sight,
Which befell us without a fight.
Such a feeble vengeance you evoked
By the flimsy wrath you set a-fire.
Now I see! I see,
The hardest hue of the evanescent desire
Apart from a brackish sensation
Out of this spoiled taste I still cherish
With a multitude of recurring hallelujah
Resonated from me to you;
For which you now hold a rue.