PALATE

You once asked me how I tasted,

As your finger was brushing against my quivering lip, 

As you looked deeply into my dark hazel eyes with your warm breath brushing my face, 

As i breathed you in,

and indeed I hesitated

Because my lips, hold my secrets

My tongue is sentient to all the savours and relishes of the entirety of my being

Yet I cannot tell you what flavour resides on my lips

Because I taste like brine, of all the salty tears that have flowed down my cheeks and dripped on my now stained pillowcase as I cried myself to sleep, over the past or my darkness or man that was undeserving of me

I taste like bitter coffee beans, fine blend double concentrated, a concoction that I take to keep myself awake and my demons imprisoned in my dreams

I taste of albuterol that keeps me from getting asphyxiated, paracetamols that numb all the physical pain

I taste like the rancid addiction I've absorbed and soothed in other people and drowned all inside me, from all the men that were undeserving of me, to behold in my palate cleansing

I don't taste like strawberry and peppermint chapstick or chocolate shavings

My lips hold the secrets to what is inside my head, and my tongue hugs the taste of my experience, my pain and fear and self-loathing

As you lean in for what seems to be what you have been craving, all i can do is wonder if my sustain would chase you away, a burden so macabre that you would reconsider seeking umami in the depths of my mouth

As your lips brush mine, would you be able to taste the secrets that they keep, and if so

Would you close your eyes to worship the sensation that I give?

Would you extol in the sweet innocence of my gentle touch and relish I present?

Or would the taste burn your tastebuds, going bland as you discover that the picture you painted of me was better in your mind?