my old love is bittersweet.
brazen promises traded for lamp-glow warmth
just bright enough to make out the stains on his shirt.
my new love is sticky.
like boiling sugar, sweet, hot and fluid and ecstatically alive
until the day it solidifies, prepped for the shattering.
my lost love is torment.
taunting me with flaunts of what was mine some time ago
when i was malleable, and now i’m solid and craving.
my love now is tender.
bruised, talc-dusted and swaddled in the heat of my new-sprung limbs
wailing. but i’d offer the teat a thousand times.