Cinnamon and star
anise, fennel seed; cloves,
ginger. Sifting them I'm reminded
of how, in this world, one taste
combines with another, or
splinters off; or returns as a thin
stroke remembered by the tongue
deep in the night, long after
the last crumbs have been swept away
from the temple steps of the mouth.
Purveyors of fine poetry since 2003.
Wow — this is such a tactile poem. And those last lines — a beautiful surprise.