Stitched is your face
Engraved so gently
Sown with kind love
But jealously paved.
What stones I placed
She glided over,
Chaining your hands
You passed my path.
So through a sheet of glass
With blurred subtle stars
Shooting from the eyes
I watch you kiss her neck.
Her choking gravity
Droops my smile and spirit
As flowers die in winter.
He loves me, he loves me not,
He loves me NOT. Oh jealousy.
- Jess, Woking
Daily Echo poet-in-residence Polly Clark writes: "Lots of sharp imagery in this sharp and sad poem."
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