06-12-2007, 10:47 AM
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Join Date: Dec 2004
Location: In a coign of the cliff between lowland and highland, at the sea-down's edge between windward and lee, walled round with rocks as an inland island, the ghost of a garden fronts the sea.
Posts: 8,967
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Nectarine
Even before he takes the first sharp bite He knows the pit is there, hard and rough And bitter as everybody knows who ever Bit one open to taste. But just the sight Of fullness newly ripe is not enough -- Oh, no -- the sweet and tart he thinks will never Not combine to slide across his tongue And ache its root must slide and ache anew; Experience is never just the view. And then, the moment gone, he’s left among Those fleeting flavors fading, fading, gone – Until another, like tomorrow’s dawn, Her firmness gently curved and fully flexed, Surrenders to perfection being next. .
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My strength is as the strength of eight -- My heart is nearly pure. Last edited by Marcus Bales : 06-12-2007 at 11:13 AM. |
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