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.

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