The Taste of Love

The Taste of Love – Many Times Bitter but Always Sweeter Than Fruit

Why do you elude me so—why do you wait for me in the darkness,
call my name but disappear when I go searching?

Deep diving into the depths of darkness,
eyes wide open, nostrils flared, chest exposed—I search for you.

The taste of love—many times bitter but always sweeter than fruit.

I’ve cried for you, screamed your name,
changed myself time and time again, in hopes to deserve you
wishing you’d come find me, that this time, you’d search for me.

But you don’t. You never do.

Instead, you send an imposter—
they look and smell like you,
but as I get close, they don’t feel like you.

The imposters are hard, thickened flesh,
no delectable delight.
And as I dive deeper—rancid.

Their rancid nature takes me over, deceives me,
and once fooled, they overtake me,
leaving me with nothing.

Empty

The taste of love—many times bitter but always sweeter than fruit.

I’ve spent lifetimes trying to catch you—
I run after you, tirelessly, my knees weak, my soles worn.
On your trail, my fingertips stretch as far as the eye can see,
steadily grasping at the hem of you—
I feel your fabric, I feel every fiber of you.

The harder I chase, the faster you run.
But I’m on your tail.

Bending corners, diving, hopping, gliding,
and when I fall, I rise again and chase even harder.

Then—you slow down a little.
You let me catch my bearings,
you stagger behind until I’ve fully found my footing.
And then we start again.

The taste of love—many times bitter but always sweeter than fruit.

I am the bravest version of myself for you.

I put my soul on the line for you,
stand by you, understand what many can’t fathom about you—
I’ve studied you.

Knowing all your weaknesses, I still desire you.
Knowing the more I care for you, the more you hurt me,
I am still here.

Waiting.

For the moment you allow me to have you.

To hold you in the palm of my hands,
climb to the highest mountain,
and proclaim to the world that I have you.

They rejoice.

The taste of love—many times bitter but always sweeter than fruit.

I won’t chase you forever, but I will if I have to.