Like sour milk his breath lingered in my nostrils
Like spoiled milk my love for him had clogged up the sink drain
Like rancid milk it became poisonous to all the ideas once held.
Dark and diminishing, my love knows no sunlight.
Raw iron is the barbaric way our love would be disassembled.
And his lack of love, therefore painted the lips of another woman.
And his lack of love is what symbolized the last ballad of Mozart.
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