Rain used to fall like Tonic
Against these panes
Those days sustained
My somber eyes
Carving lanes in plaster
I didn't love you then
But after
Small hands grow dafter
At drawing blinds

Words used to flow like Gin
From hard times
Blood-scribed rhymes
Became bruised wrists
Marks like crescent moons
I cannot love you in
My brokenness
I try to steer these walls

and miss