Macaroni past midnight should always be wrong.
But after a day of grapes- it should be sinful.
Not seductive.
Like when you think you are being teased,
and then taken.
Like too many portions of me.
I think you know it.
All the times I have tried to hold you,
you move my arms and hold me.
I don't even taste food anymore.
It just fills all the places you can never reach.
Coats it all in sugared finery,
but look who is still red with sin?
I move and the house feels my weight,
like a balancing act without any scales,
I tip,
and you totter.
Something is so childish about my stance.
I eat macaroni past midnight?
Whats your excuse?
I try to swallow my pride-
but it's the only thing that tastes like anything anymore.
Shiny, New.
I swear I don't even recognize myself anymore.
I swear it.
And then, just as my religion would have it-
the man gets to void all my oaths.
What am I left with besides my macaroni?
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