Desire...waving me down
like a flag
curling silk
crimson like
the heartbox lining
of those
chocolates from
somewhere in Europe
spilling
cream either
too sweet
or too bitter
I could
take my fill
Í could
taste each
And every one
But I know
this will be wasted
upon my scything
tongue
for all I want
in this
harvest time
is one flavor
one fruit
forbidden
to the colored point
As it explodes
along the cold
metal edge
of sensate buds
as they bloom upon
the tip
of my tongue