Sweet, Mostly Low

You tasted like aspartame,
something synthetic sweet--

close,
but not quite what I was looking for.

It might have been the department store lip gloss,
(a cherry-flavored-something-fusion like they all are)
but in my wandering daydreams
I hypothesized the origin wasn’t so superficial.
I pondered the real implications in a false enlightenment caused
by the Sunday afternoon highs that makes us all imagine
we're the next Nietzsche or Pat Robertson.
(both equal parts existentialist, hypocrite, and philosopher
in their own right)

Whether I decide to shout “God is dead” or
“Save the children” or maintain my monkish silence
and come to some semblance of a conclusion,
the Nietzschism generally fades come Monday morning
as I gulp coffee by the liter.
I take it black now,
the fake sugar reminds me of your Diet Kiss.