Eucalyptus Wrinkles

Wither waste and watch the days. I miss you like a tune, a tone that sets itself in ears until you think of nothing else but absence and waste and watch, the sticky perfume drip down your legs and wreaths of eucalyptus tie your ankles, leaved halos to ward off, doom, misery and itch. Soft skin wrinkled to broken. Days are spent with furrowed brow and depression would slip you into sleep, if the biting would stop, if you could only trust the place you call home.