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Taste
- Red Hen Press
- Chapter
- Additional Information
54 Taste Tender bottom of a peach reveals its essence in one bite, juice reviving sun & land it grew on. Its name concentrates in its taste as a rare color on a palette the brush seldom touches illuminates a canvas, and unfolds the far season you first bit in a pear, pealed a pink litchi’s corrugated shell to find a relucent flesh, candle lamp-like, gravid with a slick pit. All comparisons fail memory of a new taste: juice of a glowing grenade, sugary acridity of a lime, magnanimous watermelon with its million spat-out eyes, and the taste of you ample like a sea pushing a cliff inland. 55 Today I am an umbrella you open to the full wide of its baleens stretching my limbs. Drops ricochet to silver splashes against the black canvas: I become a portion of your sky. You hold me up as the wind takes me through. The pour down glazes your skin and billions of dots blink closing in your wake through the parking lot: brief instant the eaves of my shadow fold over you, your lips, wet, taste rain. ...