Wormwood

You were wormwood.
Bitter on the tongue,
beautiful in the garden.
The earth had no right.

They say it turns the water.
You turned me.

I drank you anyway.
Knew the sweetness was a lie
and loved you still.
Swallowed every drop
until the bitterness was blood.

Now your name is a taste.
Wormwood.
Too pretty a word
for what I should never have taken.

And yet.
I would drink you again.