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Grenadilla
- Utah State University Press
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[28] GRENADILL A Perhaps because I know how salt is paired with flame and flame’s a welt that licks the skin with thorn and bone, I’ve always loved what knows to fold the piquant tendril in the sweet— ginger with anise, torn basil with lemon, the iron bite of bitter gourds lingering long after summer berries have left their juice and stain on fingers, lips. Reptile-skinned melons blush orange like daylilies at their core, and the moon’s poor copper in exchange. Once, I spooned a tincture of jasmine flowers and my mouth transformed into an old cathedral against whose rose-veined marble walls sheets of candle smoke lifted, swirled. Once, I slipped thin slices of the carambola on my love’s tongue, so he could understand how some stars burn greener in their passing. Shake the purple rind of the grenadilla, the yellow globe of the maracuyá—audible pulse, ticking seeds: exquisite sweet, waiting to explode. ...