I bit in to it.
Explode,
Gunpowder in a cherry stone.
The flavours fit together like a jigsaw, then drifted apart like countries on an ocean;
Heat from old coals on a young tongue that hadn't tasted the world.
Fluid concertina accordion flavour -too many colours spoil the canvas.

It's a short sentence but I've never said it.
Let something like that drop and it goes on long after it stops.
The ripples spread beyond their little puddle confines
The echoes ricochet through the fullest of minds
The gravity of the sentiment is enough to tug the moon from the sky.

Or cause the vessels of hope I've come to know as my eyes to change.
Fill up.

Martini glasses left out in the rain.