Five Februaries Ago

It was a fickle afternoon.

Up on the roof of your sixth floor apartment,
the clouds were rived asunder,
then merged with orange sun residues
into an autumn.

You carried the blankets,
I held the mugs
and teabags,
and chose a spot
where we could watch the fireworks.

The evening kiss lasted for minutes.

When I came back home,
my body wasn't the same.
I had bigger eyes,
a happier face.
Your lip prints on my back
smelt of honeysuckle.

The wages of that kiss
were years of
grief.