synesthesia

i count three times you have
promised me forever.
instead of measuring it in
cliche blocks of curiosities killed,
i want you to tell me
what forever tastes like.

does it taste like
a guilt-free chocolate cake;
the kind you'd feel
binding to your thighs
as you lick your fingers clean?
otherwise, you'd discover
that it tastes just as decadent
coming up as it does going down.

or does it taste like
dollar store pasta and
stale bagels after you've
eaten them exclusively
for two weeks straight?
we did that one time when
my dad got laid off and spent
his severance checks, in full,
on bud light and old golds.

perhaps, it just burns
like french espresso,
the real potent kind that
you're too proud to silence
with milk and sugar.
your throat is raw afterwards;
it gives you the shakes and
you don't sleep for days.