Forgive me if I chewed too fast,
And swallowed up all your niceties;
Crunching the pastoral love letters,
Stiffened with a backbone, of dried sobs,
And not fully tasting the briny salt of the tears.

It's just that I've been starved for so long
For some genuine emotion in another
That wasn't drying at the bottom of some jar,
Or trapped in dust on some faded bouquet,
Forgotten in the back of a seldom opened drawer.

And even if it had to be love, so be it-
Though sorrow often tastes nearly as sweet.