Delicious to Death

love,
what is this come and go of emotion?
Does it run through all our veins
to fill our souls with failed departure
to where we mix it in our glasses,
like a sweet wine from the east,
or do we drink ourselves to trouble,
with blankened stares
we gaze at our knees.

Too full of insulin, brimmed to the top,
we lift it to our lips
and soil the bottle with our tongues,
the forbidden fruits do we call,
and smother all others
who dare to intake
this delicious of in-condolences
straight from the top.

as we know all our lives
lust is never forgiven,
but disposed of
in the diseases we love.