I’d call you Judas, but it’s a cliche,
And not even appropriate –

I was always the disciple,
Flesh-weak, forgiving and following,
And to hear you sneer at me was like…

Finding a maggot squirming,
A discovered liar,

At the core of my wet amber fruit;

Or the time I discovered that at Versailles,
In the fondant rooms,
beside the taut marble and unnecessary gold,
Aristocrats would squat on the staircases
And piss.

It was like finding out that your lover
Is taking Imodium.

Don’t you know that since the day you laughed at me,
I haven’t been able to so much as look
At a nectarine, fig biscuits or anything French?

And bread?
Tasting that is like kissing you.
I heave.