i tasted as sweet as honey
and i will forever be stuck to the roof of your mouth
and no new woman will ever be enough to cleanse you of me
she will ask why you cannot kiss her.
and you will have no choice but to say,
“i was known by a woman who taught me to speak in tongues,
but only with hers.
her tequila drips down my throat.”
you thought your mouth was watering before but now, the thought of tasting me again will haunt you
my body a jumble of phantom limbs you grasp in your nightmares
your bed too big without me curled up in it
she will ask why you are going home without her.
and you will have no choice but to say,
“i was loved by a woman who carved her name into my chest.
i cannot escape the soft scraping of her fingers.
she bled me dry.” didn’t you know?
there will never be another me.
Kathryn Willoughby is a queer poet currently studying at Rutgers University. She loves her cat, The Portrait of A Lady, and reminding exes she's unforgettable.
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