I swallow your words like baby food.
They're smooth,
and they should make me feel whole,
like bodies being pressed together,
sweat amalgamating sweat,
skin gliding skin,
yet they still have the griminess of
processed foods and facades.

I want to rinse my mouth
to forget your taste,
but I obsess being spoon-fed your lies
in order to quell my hunger
for something more,
a truth more digestible. 

I clench the spoon
that you've graciously offered me,
and I hold in my choke. 

Lips agape, 
but nothing comes out.
Your voice interrupts me—