So do my Favors and the Essence of Bergamot

I sensed the taste of suicide from your breath

As you began to retreat into your dearest leaf.

You were too happy to be alive,

Too numb to understand.

Your velvet lips,

And the spread of a sweetened peach,

Your soggy flesh

And the pouring of sour milk,

I felt your smile,

Pierced by laborious nights,

Injected and stained with permanent ink.

The pull was too much for you.

Your callused fingertips

And the baking of aged bread,

Your ripened end

And the essence of bergamot.

I tried to buy you,

More than lust,

But your refusal to dig deeper

Left the building snow inside no choice.

Don't you dare cry tonight, tomorrow, ever,

When you realize your taste for new life has grown ill.

I, among many, have shot into you an infinite of choices,

Yet you denied your duty as a beast of our land.