Dust them in white,
tap your sieve again
and agian and again.
Until they're hidden. Masked.
What once was flour now seemingly sweet.
And you smile slightly.
And you speak softly, maintaining eye contact.
And you put your hand on my shoulder, being a friend.
And you tell me what has to be; you tell me you're sorry.
Walking away; you're as fooled as you think I am. Saying what you needed, without what you had to.
But you didn't realise one thing - your words tasted bittersweet.
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