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."