tell me, in a parallel universe do I get to unlove you when it’s over?
do I strip every self loathing bone out of my spine when you break it?
do I not fold, and bend, and break at your mercy?
do the strawberries unbite themselves? uncoat their sweetness off your tongue?
my mother tells me that sometimes you do not forget,
you grit your teeth and hold the obscenities inside;
keep his name under your palate like a secret
Instead, in this universe
I kiss the next boy with the very same mouth
and your memories knock against his teeth;
it almost broke
I tell him “I am sorry
I was just hungry for your taste”
this is what strawberries do not taste like