Mouthful

Each taste bud is an
empty pedestal
for a doubt.
Collectively, they're
parched displays parading
remembered kisses.

Maybe my mouth is
only full of lies.
It says something about
how once or twice a kiss
was shared somewhere.

It mumbles half memories
about airports and foreign cities.
But, I can't be sure.

Dusty pedestals litter my mouth.
I roll them together,
tasting for evidence of
a past that may
(or may not)
exist.
I can't be sure.