You’re off to Paris as I am off the rails. Off the beaten paths, off the chartered trails. A slick, cold stone, no resistance for the tears I shed. Waterfalls as aesthetics 101, a field of poppies as my bed. I lick my wounds not like a cat, but because I poured salt in them first. Hand me a bottle of Tequila, because I know no other way to quench my thirst! Flesh as matter, if not there’d be no pain. Meaningful words or chatter, my bleeding heart leaves a stain. And how can I compare to a woman, so much gentler, so much closer to your mind? I treated you with indifference, you’re repaying me in kind. 

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