Secret Smile

You almost saw my secret smile,
lips curving into that thin line
locking shame and pleasure together,
fragile thoughts held between them:
a smile tugging tears out of my eyes.

I taste them on my tongue, salty
like the sea, sharp like lemon zest
against my teeth:

I don’t deserve this.
This is real.
I don’t deserve you.
How can this be real.
When will you end it.
I am making you up.
I am silly.
This is worth anything, even the possibility of a lie.

“What’s wrong?”

and when I kiss you,
you taste them too – the salt and the lemon
on my tongue, this
taste of things ending.

Did I leave the idea in your mouth, for you to speak it later?:

“I just… can’t see you in my future.”

It’s ok.
It’s ok.
Babe, I know exactly what you mean.
It’s ok.
It’s ok.
Darling, I can’t see my own, ha ha.

“Does…that make sense?”

So much sense.
It’s ok.
It’s ok.
“It’s ok., I understand – that’s really important.”
I do understand. Instantly.

Of all the beautiful things in the world, the beauty of things ending is the sharpest kind, and kindly sharp.


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