the taste of you still lingers on the back
of my mouth all while feeling the traces of
your fingers from my hair to my forehead down
to my cheeks, and then slowly, very slowly,
really slowly down my body where you grabbed
everything as if you were picking cherries
just to sell for your own profit. what’s for
the cherries in this case? what do they get?
nothing. they get picked, eaten, digested, then
defecated, turning out to be brown just like
your eyes when sun rays hit them. the color they
emit——it’s brown but not quite brown. the
shade of brown that’s never been distinguished
like how you never knew if you actually loved
and cared for me. a yes and a no. a never and
forever. this is how it’s like to be on the
other side of your blissful and fabricated lies.

©2018, Quiyet Brul

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