The pastures of my sanity lie between
the first kiss of my lips
and making macaroni and cheese for one.

I’m not fluent in French
but I can speak in tongues,
better than any linguist.

And lust.
My favorite word to say,
and be.

Touch my finger to my lip,
have I gotten your attention yet?

The more I pretend to love,
the more I love to hate.

A silly game,
I’m playing it,
with you.

But the more of you I kiss,
the less of you I like.

And now,
I
the object of your so called affection,
have poisoned you
with foreshortened importance,
and plead with you-
to please retreat.

Yet you still crave me,
like some ignorant child
who’s never believed in candy
until someone told them,
it’s quite sweet.