Say it soft.
I’ll say it too.
Some lies are doors
we walk back through.

You tell me I look younger
in the low light by the bar.
I tell you I believe you,
like I don’t know where we are.
Your ring leaves a pale mark
when you turn it with your thumb.
My phone stays face down,
but it keeps trying to hum.
We both know the weather.
We both read the glass.
We both keep pretending
the storm already passed.
You smile with your mouth full
of almost and not yet.
I laugh like forgiveness
is easy to get.

Lie sweet.
Lie close.
Tell me what we both know.
Truth cuts clean,
but it cuts too deep.
So lie sweet.
Lie sweet.

I say I don’t get jealous
when your name goes quiet late.
You say I’m the only one
with your eyes on the plate.
The waiter brings the check.
Neither one of us moves.
There’s a candle giving up
black thread over the spoon.
We could make a courtroom
out of every little pause.
We could drag the daylight in
and name every law.
But your hand finds mine
underneath the tablecloth,
and the truth sits there starving
while we feed it soft.

Lie sweet.
Lie close.
Tell me what we both know.
Truth cuts clean,
but it cuts too deep.
So lie sweet.
Lie sweet.

Maybe I’m vain.
Maybe you’re tired.
Maybe we built this
out of silk and wire.
Maybe the mirror
has been paid to behave.
Maybe the honest thing
would put us in graves.
So don’t confess.
Don’t turn the knife.
Let the wrong words
keep us warm tonight.

Lie sweet.
Lie close.
Tell me what we both know.
Truth cuts clean,
but it cuts too deep.
So lie sweet.
Lie sweet.

Morning comes honest
with its cold little teeth.
Pull the curtains.
Lie sweet.