The (lustfully) static symmetry
crashes silently through
me and you and
a few kisses, and a hand grenade
saying anything that feels good must be good.
sipping sideways at
lightly through my drink,
and as the ice clicks against the glass
at least we have the experience
formal goodbyes and a
when I told you
I have no regrets.
(some things are ((better)) left unsaid.)