Bitter // Recoil

Hudson Greig, Contributor.

Your intimacy leaves

Recoil; the taste of lemons,

Rotting beaches

And lacerated skin.

Enclosed, I gasp for silence,

The freedom of ignorance

Found in earphones;

Respite when your laughter

Cuts to deep.

This takes time –

Yours in the present,

Ours in the past,

Mine from your future,

Tainting memory

With comparative inadequacy;

Salting the soil

For future famine.

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