t a s t e
michelle k. arasim

 Bent him out of shape
Took it one step farther than familiar
Sour taste lingers on his lips
With no such words
For my finding
Of what he was inside
For my showing
Of what he didn't want to see of himself
What a shame
That he'll shut his eyes
And proclaim
That the sour taste
Was nothing more than a bad morsel

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