Do I want milk, do I want apples,
or do I want a plate of sliced green
mangos to dip in salted shrimp?
Is the sleeve of one shirt torn,
do the hems of my trousers
tongue open above my ankles?
Has the sea come with a message,
has the gull lifted the bandage
from its cheek? The bees that forage
in the coffee groves bring back
a honey tinged with bittersweet. Their
industry thickens in the jar
and I return night after night to dip
my finger into its depths.