Is that chocolate syrup splayed?
Spread the fluffy iris yolk,
taste the ashes in the rain,
smashing heart ribs with 1 stroke.
I remember still your warmth,
stilled by runny April sundown,
when imaginations swarm,
when again I lose my grounds.
Still you leave your rusty stains
on my mug, which won’t go ‘way
—last month’s taste as yet remains.
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