I taste the brightness
Of citrus when she smiles,
Almost like a sunrise.

I taste something mournful
When I remember our midnight conversations.  
Blackberries, dark and bitter,
But as the tang fades,
The stain remains.

People say crying tastes like saltwater.
Yes: the stale sting of sweat on my palms,
Tastes like graphite and desperation,
Like expired mangoes,  
And a voice that won’t stop talking.

I remember the ache of
Evenings, lonely and suffocating.
Mornings that I still wake to
Where I dream of breakfast and
Treat myself to black coffee.

It sounds like a braggart king’s
Biggest lie, the taste of death.
It tastes like showering in the dark,
Like metal and blood that won’t wash off,
Like black coffee when I would
Rather have Cheerios.

I kept wondering if I would outgrow
The feelings of eyes on me.

I have yet to believe that they
Aren’t all staring.
I have yet to forget the taste
Of waxy nothingness on my tongue,
The guilt of sleepless nights,  
The odd feeling of waking and
Not believing the world around me.

Each tree has grown mouths,
All are laughing.

I walk my dog and I feel the heat
Slither around my spine.
The cars driving by are all looking.
Why do I feel like someone is following me?
I check over my shoulder.

I am submerged in warm ocean.
I can breathe, but for how long?

She was borne in ocean spray
A goddess before the gods.
When I look in the mirror and curse my image,
It is to her I unwittingly pray.

Aphrodite, our savior, in lipstick
Sipping red wine at a table no one is good enough for,
(And yet, we can’t take our eyes off her).

The goddess of love is blood.
Her image comes with the taste of metal,
Chewing on my lip
Instead of looking him in the eyes.
Aphrodite’s image is not one for photography,
I see nothing, and laugh
Halfheartedly.

I can’t imagine love as a being,
Nor can I see beauty as a form.
Both are beyond my fingertips---
I suppose a goddess can be sea foam.