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