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my tongue aches
with the weight
of all of the things
i have not said to you

the taste of silence
has left a bitterness in my mouth
that travels, like colorless smoke,
through weary lungs

it moves through my veins
like a finger tracing a map
weaves through an uncharted heart,
lingers at tired fingertips

it has settled quite nicely
at the base of my stomach

the taste of food
is always tinged
with my unspoken words to you

your aftertaste
has never quite left my system


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