I wrinkle apace lovely displays blur,
Once glowing sunsets cloaked now Doctor, Sir.
A curse, the lightest sounds no longer heard;
My favorite soft frequencies I miss,
I beg you, grant my ears this divine bliss.
The aromatic whiff of dearest scent,
Now vague, my once undying skill is doomed.
My recipes, out of pity, are consumed.
And concoctions foul, now I cannot taste.
This bleakness in truth, made eating so bland -
Everything now most certainly is sand!
Soon, tenderness I fear will recede too,
What immense hugging I must do!
© Charlize Andrews 2022
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