Regret

The taste of regret

is not bitter,
It will not slake
your throat with needles
when you see flagons
of sunshine to warm
a home not quite made.
No.
Regret will slip into color:
Its orange will pin you
to the sky
for the winds to whisper
the cloying promises
you forgot to make.
You will taste them,
The sugar in those ceremonies
will parch your tongue
until all you search
in dreamy rainfalls
is the tastelessness
of water.


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