No image for this one.
Just some words barely scripted but still bee-sting stung from a clench or a craving.
Just pouring out the remnants of your leftover drink into mine.
Just so I can have a bit of something that glanced your lips be poured into something that I can now consume.
It's a small pour. A measure. A treasure.
But it's now gone and apparently so are you. Except for that small pour that is now resident inside of me.
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