end of the affair
her packed bags by the front door
ctrl/alt/delete
80 m.p.h.
butterflies hit the windscreen
with weightless fireworks
she’s been eating crisps
I can taste them on her lips
ready salted love
pausing in the snow
a robin, fresh from murder,
looks me in the eye
the six grades of sting:
nettle, pinprick, wasp, hornet,
papercut, and love