Truth is tart upon the tongue,
so we settle for something sweet
and let the lies steam over our vision.
We sit in the back corner
beneath the flicker light,
so we don’t have to look
each other in our eyes.
The reality rests heavy on eyelids
and dries out our mouths.
We keep drinking coffee
and adding sugared hopes
and mini packets of future
to dilute the bitterness.
The harshness of our partners’ names
as they grate the underside of the tongue
until our love blisters into tiny sores.
The truth stings each lesion
and we try to wash it down
with black coffee, dark corners,
and secrets caked beneath our nails.
Poetic Trials 