What is that, lingering on my tongue whilst you smoke rings of thunder through the air?
This garden is busy – birds bursting with song in twilight hours, as if to lift a heavy heart
But there is no music in the sky tonight, just the stench of starvation
Hunger for before, between then and now – this very minute
And I, sat here with nothing but memories to feast on
Quietly look upon your face and see contentment
You have no appetite – no fire
and your skin is blue with cold