of water and wine

23rd September 2012

Weird tastes, unusual tastes,
The taste of culture and the taste of wine.
The taste of bittersweet, of falling beneath
the reign that once was you.
          The taste of paper, of pages,
          Scents of being read, being devoured, being admired after being a coward,
          The bow before returning, after learning,
          The taste of blood in the mouth when you lose a tooth, bite your cheek –
          Forsooth,
          The taste of tears much the same,
the smell of burden and the scent of rain;
          The smell of flowers, of tulips, of roses and violet,
disappear but once when the night is quiet,
          When dreams of killing don’t stop,
the taste of old chicken broth unwarmed and left cold on the table until Goldilocks was able to make porridge and pie.
          The sense of desperation, the view of incineration,
          The sense that cobblestone is falling slowly from the cliff,
          The attic is falling,
          The plants need watering,
The soup is on the stove and the scent is pouring
beyond the pot as my heart is yearning but I kid you not,
the sand is falling.

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