and asks me to stick out my tongue, so I do.
I ask him if he sees the paintings I carry in the back of my throat.
He laughs, as if I’m telling a joke. I’m not.
I tell him that I’ve got Da Vinci, Monet, Van Gogh, and Picasso,
and when I laugh, I taste brushstrokes.
I ask him to stick out his tongue,
so I can see what he has trapped inside of him.
He hesitates...
Then he does, and I see a man who struggles for acceptance
and chokes on the word love.
