On these days of broken weather,
I know better than to crave
the sweet shards of poison you
would leave behind—shattered candy
sticking in my hair. You did not care
for tending
to your mess after upending
our bowl of pink carnations.
Sugary stamens cling to me,
but they bring not bees—
only wasps.
It is better to stop losing
and to admit that I have lost.
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