No Laughs

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Only bad things happen
between us.
Mutiny of good feeling
and more of the same where
that comes from.
It all jumped overboard.
No happiness in minutiae.
No watching the moment flit by
on short wings.
No revering of sunsets, no ambling,
no humming.

No surprises that finger
the envelope of the heart.
No rush, no susurration that swells
through the lungs
or not any rush that lasts
as when holding a rabbit or a baby.
Just a leaden sensation
like a lump of cold vomit.
The unknown congealed simply
to not yet past.

No momentary splendours as in a movie,
no belly laughs.
Emotion left sitting,
a cold cup of tea on a wooden table;
impure destruction among the toast crusts
jumbled with bitterness and blame.
A sour slurry,
the impossibly miserable contained.

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