writing

taste

You know yourself to be wise,
but it is a strange thing to resist:
to draw her up close,
to peel her back, a red skinned mango
the nectar at your mouth – stingy sweet.
fruit flesh untasted.
it is a strange thing to resist:
to be good and singular and granular
a quick drawing of sugar
but briefly . . .
like tea with honey.

He says, “You are awake.
to those waking, you are irresistable.
to those sleeping, you are beyond understanding.”
to be the Dream Brother,
or the Daughter of Stones.
seven over and over again . . .
knowing the joining would be
perhaps the missing voice
within the voice.
but they all come with songs
they hear you and join in
at all the right echoes.
“You are awake.”

We know where we belong
in those fleeting drams of time,
we take the hands, tighten down like locks
and know what it is to never forever BE.
To be tasty and know how you taste.
Turn those circles outward now,
ripples, vibrations in the waterglass
be sacred at every moment
throwing hands into a fire that understands.
Breathing into red connections —
tables are set for these strange gatherings,
might you . . .
shamelessly partake
of mangos and tea with honey.

Might you?

~ Andrea E. Janda

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