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

  1. I guess we will have to just keep tasting you until we understand what it is ourselves


  2. 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.

    Liked by 1 person

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Robert Charboneau.

Writer and Artist

living document

a collection of short poetry from an autistic mind

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