Cold

Your honeysuckle tongue has all the backlash of a whip, 

and I’ve been trying to hold your hand but your words leave whelps on my skin.

I settled for silence but that only deepened the pit in my stomach until my breath resonated from the floorboards of our broken house. 

 

You said you wanted a home but my feet were cold before I even crossed the threshold.

 

 

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