Blankly,
gazing out at you
Void of everything
I once knew.
A pickle jar,
Emptied.
Tongue’s grit
Rough and sore.
~~~
Don’t spoil
Your sour mood,
For me.
Or anyone.
But lick your lips,
And twist tight,
What you might.
Until the seal stops,
And your wounds have healed.
~~~
Words retracted,
Or withheld.
Kept from flight
An invisible sting,
Rich with plight.
I need to hear
All the spew.
~~~
Your rancid drool,
A refreshing stench.
Stirs an aching soul.
~~~
A chapeau
Tipped,
Secrets spilled.
~~~
Into a heart
With open arms,
Yet a narrow regard
For the sour tongue
That hangs
So low.
When you finally do
Decide to crow.
DoRee MelNic 