It's Even in My Coffee

You have pain sewn into your face
like coveted gold; embroidered
into every crease and pocket,
woven in your eyes and hidden in your words.
It comes tumbling out every time your lips part, slipping
between spaghetti and sauce as we converse
over dinner, escaping between
kisses, but always leaving traces of sorrow on your ruby lips.
It hides in your accented cheekbones, falls
out with your tears,
stains your face as it slips from your cinnamon eyes.
Pain hides beneath your skin, under your clothes,
in the most private parts of you that only I can see.

Why so sad? I wonder.
Sorrow bites me as our lips meet,
slithering into my mouth and oozing down my throat
like venom. It poisons my bones
and clots my blood. Don’t feed me;
it pains me to eat it.