The unlovables

I’ve been embracing you despite yourself,

in accurate defiance

of the peach hair on my neck,

against your will and maybe mine,

like unsweetened yoghurt,

yet less conducive to my guts.

I smelt your chest

in perfect congruence

with childish stubbornness

and in alignment with my craving

for the stale taste of

eternally unlovables.

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