Find your own slaughtered love.
Your own strawberry-dipped stains
in someone else's cup. Swear on
the scars you left and the muddy
footprints in another's heart -
gaze fondly across my lips
and know we've shared our
final imaginary kiss. Find your own
slaughtered love, just know -
it isn't like wine that
gets better with time,
like you once told me.
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