Raw Earth Ink
spit, mixed with dirt – muddy words flow
Taste
As he tastes my skin
Early in the morning
I wonder what it is he finds
Upon his wandering tongue
Is it the spice of passion?
The bitterness of loneliness?
Or the sticky sweet honey of love?
Am I cinnamon and clove?
Earth after it has rained?
Salty tears of heartache?
I imagine I’m not without flavor
As he keeps coming back for more
Devouring me like a starving man
What is it he desires that I fulfill?
Perhaps it’s nothing more than
Adequate gratification
Filled and sated
Emptiness held at bay
tara caribou | ©️2017
18 Comments on “Taste”
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Very well penned!
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Thank you.
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You are welcome!
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All of the above. 😝
Spicy, honey, sweet
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Maybe.
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Definitely
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Always questioning
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I am. It’s low self-esteem, I guess.
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Damn good, this!!
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Thanks Yassy! ☺️
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Welcome 💃🏿🌞👋
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I guess we will have to just keep tasting you until we understand what it is ourselves
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I’m quite partial to a cinnamon bun or three. Lovely words Tara.
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I’m a fan of cinnamon rolls myself. Just made some yesterday actually 😋
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Yummy 😁
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Interesting take on hunger. Not of any specific kind, though, if any I’d say it was a hunger for a deeper bond, an emotional connection – a soul hunger, if you will. Then, naturally, it moves onto culinary delights, but questions the “delight” in the equation, asking whether the act of feeding itself is the actual ends, and the taste just a means… thought-provoking, to say the least.
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Yes. Yes that’s it exactly. I originally wrote this when I was with someone who I just couldn’t understand why he was with me. Best answer I could come up with is that he didn’t want to be alone. I don’t know. His answers were cryptic.
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Well that was on him. At least he inspired some beautiful poetry, tho.
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