I taste like heaven and hell.
Like the nightmares you had where you were left in the middle of the ocean.
Drowning
You woke up crying.
Or the one where you watched everyone you loved die.
But
It was you shooting.
I taste like the hidden corners of your closet where you keep your diaries.
With pages filled with how you’d touch me.
I am the burnt sugar on the edge of the pan.
The drops of ice cream that leave your fingers sticky.