Aftertaste

This wasn't the end. This wasn't the beginning. This was just love. It was just life.

Passionate kisses in the dark and warm hugs in the cold bedroom, love reserved for more intimate relationships of a higher gradient. It was truly meaningful, but beauty is only laced in toxicity.

For with each kiss they share, one tastes mango and passionfruit, the other smoke and lust. One tastes chocolate and burning wood, the other nothing at all.
There was no eye in this storm, no end to this mean. It was a tsunami spiraling out of control, deception in the smoke and glass crevices of their broken lives.

With Sin and Everest, that was all it had ever been.

Mouth against mouth, tongue against tongue, and after enough repetitions, all you would end up with was the bitter aftertaste.

No eye in the storm, but a lie and a love worth shattering.