a poem a day for a year #28

I am not your truth

I am more like a dare


it will be fine

we can watch the fruit on the wooden table

turn soft in the bright winter sunshine


sweet and warm

like bad still life paintings

roll across the table

and into your hands

you take a bite

small sticky juice lips

I drink my tea

we have no idea

what we want

constantly on the verge of speaking

but the clock ticks like thunder

and it's all I hear