The rain pools on the roof before dripping twelve storeys down the stairwell; slowly like Sunday’s sorrow on the heart.
Your pain is incurable. Abandoned by every lover who felt the intemperate shadow cast by eyes that know there is no medicine. At night you fetch juice from the refrigerator,
Last night I had a dream in which we were scientists. The world was falling apart and people were looking to us for answers. The disintegration started with the honey bees.