The boy you loved didn’t know his own
name. He spoke, but what came out were
the need-cries of a newborn. When he reached
towards your heart, it was actually your sweet
breast or something shiny, maybe, on a necklace.
Perhaps you were, yourself, an animal; we’re
all something less than we’d like to admit, but
consideration forces the issue, as observation
kills the cat. I didn’t know that, then. I never
meant to waste your gift to me; I never thought
this bow hid a box I could ever really open. I have
a name now; it’s regret. I didn’t know pheromones
determined so much, so aptly. I thought I’d smell all
my days out, but now, it’s all cleaning products in
hospital waiting rooms. I thought; we’re young.
We’ll heal. There will be plenty of chances to make
this right. But this is all a lie. What I thought was
an aching hunger that could never be satisfied. I thought
everyone ate their own brains. The one secret I never
shared: hearts taste so much more filling.
- Word Sexual
- Battered Sausage