There is something so sickly sweet about the mixture of lust and earnest interest in someone.
Someone who might not feel the same.
It tickles your tongue like sugar
and stings the roof of your mouth with a vinegar finish.
You can’t tell if you like it
if it just hurts.
You want to hold onto every
even when you are sipping air.
You want to believe it is all good, but the unrequited emotions bubble up.
More and more.
You seep out the edges, upset because this spill seemed preventable.
dripping in disappointment.
You won’t entertain accidents, even though that’s what it actually is.
Instead, you let it keep trickling down your throat, trying not to choke.