I figure
The truth
Speaks better
Than pretending
Pain isn’t
Real

But that’s
How it all
Seems easy
To lose
What has never
Been yours

Like a hand
Which is given
On faith
So the touch
Of her grace
Feels worthy

From a place
Whose heart
Is redemptive
For a name
Unsuited
To love

As I curse
This solemn
Exchange
And blame myself
When she
Crumbles

Apart
Like a morsel
Of sweetness
Or one sliver
That’s meant
To be saved

When our bitterness
Fair
Yet unclaimed
Seethes
Near the tip
Of her palette

Reminding me
Taste
Is forever
But a memory
Just
Doesn’t last

If the argument
Flavors
Our past
Or waits beyond
Time
That is wasted

Regretting
Words we have
Spoken
Or withheld
As an essence
Of loss

Sullying
Days which are
Cost
By the sourness
Mounted
Within us

Made edible
Only
Through changing
What saltiness
Spills
From my mouth.

– J. Pigno