Some how he does it
over and over again
even when I've been
doing my best to steer clear
of him
here he comes
making me
eat my own words
again...

so I sit starving
indignantly refusing
to feel what this feels like
when your reminded in
sharp jabs that
yeah you still love him
like he said you would
I'd eat again
if I could...

and it didn't taste
so much like his scent
that I get choked up
on nostalgia
and forget the past's not
the present
and attempt once more
to repent
back into his good graces
never again to
fall from his favor...

if with this
humble pie spiced with
my own words
there were still
something besides
his memory
left to savor