She had acquired the taste.
The hundredth kiss made her an absolute connoisseur.

The poet lives two lives.
One on the outside,
And one in their mind.

When you look in their eyes
You could see an abyss.

If you looked long enough
You could sink into it.

But most people don’t see it.

Take the time to read the words, though,
And you would know for sure.

The poet lives in two different worlds.

Where mothers wail,
family, friend, and foe
gather in last respect
and jovial sadness,
greeted by whiskey and tea, in the aftermath of moths wearing black vails, stepping on flytrap petals,
walking down the aisle of the pallbearers wedding.