Cara is the sun that outshines the blue,
and the leaves that he chose thoughtlessly.
She does better sticking to her own kind,
two x’s that carry more than the back room.
Toronto morning, before sunrise, bitter wind.
Justin is left behind to immolate like an asshole.
Her frigid, shaking fingers dial up a lingering sadness.
A piece that fits still aches like an absence at night.
A voice cuts open the withdrawal of Oxytocin contact high.
Tears freezing on her cheeks: “I love you. Whisper the spell.”