Stick me in between your two front teeth.
Crush me with your canines. Smack me around every corner of your mouth.
Chew me inside and out. Let out “sweet” from your lips. Taste me and all that's offered to you.
Then look up, cheeks warm, and sweat forming as your table mates ask how I taste.
Deny yourself and me. Go bitter faced and claim I’m just not enough for your greedy taste buds, that you can find better. Tell the lies that you feel you have to so that you can avoid the what ifs.
Like what if you want to indulge me everyday? What if we become dependent on each other? You depend on a taste to rely on and I depend on you as a reliable consumer. We don’t want that. Right? You should spit me out before the craving sets in.
But side-eye my left overs. How uneaten I am.
In the quietest part at night, sneak to the fridge and carry me to bed. Have your fill and shove me back into the cold before morning. I can admit that I take pleasure in the secret. Slowly pick away at my remains for the next few nights. You shame yourself for wanting me, yet refuse to waste me.
When you consume all that I am nobody will ask what happened to me, because you can’t admit how desirable I am to you.
