Your Lemons
Your persimmons
Your lemons
Your madeleine
The preserved memories
That you have stashed away
Involuntarily
gustative olfactory wind
collateral baggage
inked permanently alongside that
odor, or flavor on that particular day.
in the canyons and valleys of
your ball of clay
To me the iron aftertaste
of lips closed over teeth
Long enough
the proximity of blood
to ivory leaves its trace
the flavor of the moment
When a thing was said
the recurrence of
what hasn’t yet been named
What’s still waiting to be felt
how bitter sweet those lemons will taste
now that their preservation is completed
The indelible connections linked