I am not Sylvia but I know sadness
sometimes I can taste it, still on my tongue
that omnipresent lump in my throat
the murderess in love, oscillating to the music
of speechless ignominies
tastes can impale you, slicing knives acting
as tonsils
knowing sadness, I know her
and of course, after all this time,
she must know me, too

-c.j.