No matter how hard you try
You are such a “nice” guy.
Kind.
Profanely neutral.
A saccharine artist
Bloated with honey.
You hand out sweets to all the young girls.
My sweet lover
of mercy —
you know no boundary
in your sugar-coated generosity
when you invade vulnerability
with you dehydrating pity.
You enter so sweetly,
so discreetly
carving out a cavity
into what was once healthy.
You coat with a sticky residue
that putrefies —
then deserts over time.
These rotten games you play
leave me empty
with a horrid aftertaste.
A soft infected hole
of bottomless decay.
It’s what you do
my dear
and out of a murky pain
the truth runs clear.
How can I remember yesterday
as sweet satiety?
How do I think of love as luscious candy
when today is exposed —
a constant ache of excess
a cavity
of spoiled absence.
