There are thirty ways to betrayal
and they scandalously flicker their tongues
over wandering whores and sacrificial virgins
their egos clang, and echo emptily between
carnal perpendiculars and thoughtless trajectories
without really bothering to solve the value of x
masked with pretentious book quotes
and excuses of existential crises
they fumble and jingle and stage
confusion like a farce,
a keyless liquid justification
to a one-size-fits-all morality
they carve their hearts into unrecognizable shapes
thinking that as long as it still beats, it still the same
fingertips licked clean with clinical grade precision
Resting every now and then
silently heaving the lightless burden of their secret
between clenched legs and an inextinguishable fever
They dust the crumbs off the bed, and flush the dead fish
freshly washed linen shirts ironed to its starch conception
Shame cremated, only to come back as exotic teas dipped on
perfectly boiled water, served on expensive silver ware
sweetened with a single kiss on the cheek
and a delicate french flesh-colored macaroon
9:07 PM
March 18, 2013
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