The tang of your tongue is bitter like vinegar, and

I would much rather it be like a strawberry

coated in crystals that dance around the insides of cheeks.

For the change in the taste of your mouth

would surely change the way

words click through your teeth

like snowflakes that flurry round and round

during the most brilliant of summers.

The sun sheds its yellow, energetic sprinkles

onto my taste buds, but

your icy flakes soon turn my tongue blue

and force me to look for a feeling.

My eyes and heart grow weary of your blizzard

that only happens during my summer, but

it seems I don't have the power

to change you.

No matter how much I'd like to.