Can you taste them?
Those slow melting morsels of sugar,
just lingering on the corners of your mouth...
You let them drip from your spoon,
let them roll off your tongue
and dress your intentions.
As they try and undress me...
Everything's inviting,
the presentation, the flavor, the texture...
Like Bartlett pears:
"Granules of sugary sand, made to melt and fill every taste bud."
The warmth of your phrasing,
reassuring with their momentary high
and their lingering desire for more...
Heavy with mood,
rich with aphrodisiacs'
and smooth like that cocky-ass grin...
These words are like ants,
attracted to the smell of decadence...
Sweet rotting decadence...
Watch them decay,
as the truth beneath...
Reveals the lack of sustenance.
Live on these words?
On these hollow, sugar-coated statements,
and be satisfied?
Fuck you.
I need more than that.
You left me nauseous,
and filled with this stain...
Keep rolling those lines,
make them smooth and inviting,
make them enticing,
make them all yours....
*Never again,
will I indulge you.*
I need a tall drink of water,
the wind wiping through my hair,
and this pavement,
To guide my sullied feet,
as I "beat on against the current..."
of my self-indulgent past.