Glutton

Just how many times have I stuffed my face
with these unripe loves like bitter dark chocolates,
backhanded pleasures
biting back at my overeager tongue?

I'll end up paying for so much indulgence.

And just as the obverse of ecstasy
is a satiated disappointment,
I flip over another likely coin
to find it blank, too smooth too shiny:

your heart is a cipher,
And I begin to think my own heart too chapped
to leave out flapping
in the wind any longer

Past hopes that flew too high
are waxen cicatrices clinging brittle
to a weary tablecloth
The feast is over, no dessert

And endless self-recriminations in my mouth
savor better than the plain, unsweetened truth
of dis-self-illusionment