Vintage Wine...
Feel their stares
upon your skin,
burning,
like acid,
and hot,
like a flame-licked brand...
Hear their words,
soft murmurs
of a brook,
and get caught in
the current
of the river beneath...
Taste the hate
you feel
in your mouth,
bitter,
like yarrow,
lingering in the back of your throat...
See them smile
as you turn,
innocense personified...
but you see
the flames of
power
burning in thier eyes...
For they know
that you hear them...
They can smell
your hate
like roses...
embarressment
like thyme...
and savor your sadness
like a vintage wine....
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