For Lack of a Better Word

We capture gossip
in our mouth
This is what we get—
A false sense of
smiles and held to
Perfection.

Shut up this something—
a twig,
A memory,
rosemary,
lavender
Held by mechanically
chopped
Words

We said too much
Loved too much
It’s all too much
Gripping,
but we want
Secrets out

It’s perfect.
Just punctuated
with our
gleam.

Satisfaction.