We made the wrong choices
and they nearly killed us.
Those words rotted our teeth
and put cancers in our throats,
and when we would speak,
the ichor would soak
our chins,
and a fetid cloud would hang,
wet, over our lives,
a weighted blanket of lies
that pressed us into the earth,
where we thought
we could never move again.
But, the winds changed.
They blew away the rain
and let us realize we could live,
once we healed and cast aside
the words that kill.
Our mouths are sore,
but healing.
Our lips are peeling,
but that dead flesh
last touched the old evils,
and when it’s gone,
like spring,
our innocence
may be reborn as pink skin –
We have learned to live,
and give sweet kisses
on the other’s cheeks,
as would
first love-to-lovers
embrace in their gentle bliss.
©️ Obol, 2020.