Eden

Serpentine, slithering through my awareness, I can taste the forbidden fruit on my tongue. The first tangy taste of knowledge, the thick sludgy tar of evil and the light, airy taste of good. What have I done?

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Car Dates

Soft music playing in the background, your face is lit up by the radio’s lcd display. You blink softly as you look at me and twine my fingers with yours. You’re soft and sleepy. I have the strongest urge to cuddle you and kiss your cheek but there’s a console and gear box between us.
We’ve just come back from a long drive. You wanted me to take you somewhere. Anywhere, with no destination in mind really. Just a scenic drive. Minimum navigation, just turning left or right if it feels right. Taking whichever exit calls out to us.
We eventually stopped somewhere random, next to a church that I noticed when your GPS urged us to perform a U-turn. Your shoes are off, you’re always more comfortable that way. Your toes wiggle intermittently as if they were expressing their joy at being free. You prop your feet up against my dashboard and look at me. “What next babe?” you ask languidly.
We talk. For two hours. Discover more about each other. Share fears, dreams, hopes, expectations. You scrape me with your absurdly long nails several times playfully. I like it when we tease and joke with each other. We invent a new safeword for honest conversations. I tell you that you shouldn’t get a fringe, you tell me that you don’t like my latest haircut. We sip from the same bottle of water periodically.
The sun is glinting through the leaves of the tree that surround us, we’re in a very quiet neighborhood. Evening is fast approaching, we have to get unlost. We reluctantly stretch and begin the journey back. “Take forest road so that the route back is easier,” you say. I agree and tell you to navigate, even though I know the way all too well. I just want to hear your voice.
Now we’re here in my my car, your face lit up by the lcd radio light. You look soft and sleepy, we’re holding hands, the air is heavy with intimacy. You have to go. You stay another thirty minutes. I embarrass you with lewd stories. We laugh, you have to go. You stay another twenty minutes.
“Wanna come up?” You ask.
Always.

Bitter

I am bitter. Like the sap from an aloe vera leaf snapped abruptly. Tangy, sharp and caustic. Bitter. The bitter that makes you gag and hack once your taste buds are exposed to it. 
I am bitter. It’s seeping out, staining my words with vitriol, derision and disregard. I am bitter. I can taste it on my tongue, especially early in the morning after I’ve brushed my teeth. It mingles with the toothpaste and forms a minty fresh barbed wire layer that settles at the back of my throat. 
I am bitter. Like the acrid sweat from a dehydrated life form. The piquant, persistent stench that rapes your nostrils and leaves you wanting to retch.

Bitter. Why won’t you let me claw you out of my pores? Bitter, why won’t you let me piss you out? Bitter, why won’t you let me writhe in shame? Bitter, why do you feed me pride and apathy? Bitter, why do you leave me starving? Bitter, why do you please my glut? Bitter, why do you suck on my fingers when I’m tasting you? Bitter, why do I go down on you and rejoice in your acrid musk? Bitter, why do you let me whip and gag you? Bitter, why do I fuck you on top of a moving universe? 

I am bitter.