It tastes like tin
the chocolate cut with metallic
tinge

no tin
ge

I’m sorry I never told you
I’m sorry I told you
I’m sorry I didn’t tell you everything

When you kissed me
all the colors drained from the room
I watched them pool onto the floor
and there was only you left
bright, bright
as the forest fire

                        I don’t remember
I don’t remember what her name was
I don’t remember the color of his eyes

I couldn’t breathe
that summer when a cold
slipped into my lungs
heavy as the humid-air
my mother, she pressed
cold washcloths to my forehead

Help yourself
Help me, I’m looking for this book
Help
It tastes sweet
on my tongue
sweet molasses
rich, bleeds between
my teeth

Please I’m sorry
Please I don’t remember
Please help
You

in the window
the light bleeds
in around you
and you
look like
I can
still taste
you
on my tongue

Chloe N. Clark‘s work appears in Bombay Gin, Gamut, Hobart, Public Pool, and more. She can be found on twitter @PintsNCupcakes