Sour Breath

Coiled around every kiss 

Is the taste of a temporary love. 

It’s a bitter pill to swallow,

But we’ve all forced ourselves 

To stomach worse things than this, 

In the name of desire.

 

Nobody enjoys a burning esophagus,

Nor the rancid taste of stomach acid 

That accompanies every exhale.

A goodnight kiss has been replaced 

With a shot of sour breath 

Breaking across the face of a stranger. 

Going to bed alone would be the smart thing to do, 

But you’re two bottles deep,

And it’s cold here in December, Ohio,

So you drag a warm body up and under the cover of your sheets, 

Because under those covers 

You can almost convince yourself 

That warmth is coming from a place of genuine care.

 

But that lie falls down, down, down,

Into the cavern that used to be your sense of empathy, 

And it keeps falling until the air is filled 

With the echo of shattered porcelain, 

And you begin to realize how empty you’ve become 

In your search for another love.