The taste of disappointment is bitter, but bearable

Quietly reeling, you clung like a barnacle to the lips of a new lover. They grasped you in firm and fervent hands, often losing you in their hair, the smell of their skin. You both breathed out great sighs, bellows expelling burnt ashes and a thick subterranean heat. Blood ran so hot. Sweat dripped salty and words slipped saccharine. Nights turned into days, and those days into nights while conversations evolved and revolved. Such a great hunger you shared.  It was immolation almost, in desire. Of course it would fade too soon. The fuel was being piled under that bed at an alarming rate. How could it not grow cold? Sense came, chasing away the pleasant poignancy, leaving only a bitterness and careful care. My fingers across a jawline, I soon was only tracing a memory despite the physicality of the motion. Words were left unsaid as flesh lied fallow, yet friendship had flowered in that garden. So, a few tears were shed with uncomfortable conversation, but your stability had returned despite your disappointed hearts. Kind and honest, with no tempest, no hurricane, the end was simply a puff of air on a candle, the smoke fading quickly.


One response to this post.

  1. I’m reading you girl! And I’m loving it!


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