Should I keep trying to write poetry with my tongue with every person that I kiss
Or should I let the bitter hopelessness continue to eat a burning crater in my chest?
She looked at me with timid eyes like I held the universe in the palm of my hand.
"The world and I have fallen out of love," she said,
Her lips tangling around the final word.
With hesitation simmering in my chest
I leaned in to taste her loneliness.
We wrote poetry together.