The Idea Of A Taste Poem by Michael Timothy Rose

Faint ripples of meaning
And the idea of
A taste
In
Literature.

Almost sweet. But luxurious.
Along pensive, rugged plains.

Traveling, and even so,
Moving past
The length of my tongue
As it
Undulates,
Perspires and
Presses.

And would you tell me,
Reveal the secret
Of this peace, the idea of-
A taste?

I think.

If red had a taste,
It would be strawberry.

It would be a motioning taste,
Passion over a thousand granule sensations,
Touching gums with a gentle hand
Of mothers
And greeting teeth lusciously with brushing seedy feet
And branches
That drag their ductile brush along the sense
Of stretched soaked, salivated longing
(while the shuffle of the bent, lush green leaves
Reverberates an unconscious musing and nostalgia)
And tells you,
How sweet,
How delicious,
How indescribable
Is the pressed and hum warm fruit within your mouth,
How it echoes outwards
Uttering the soul of the quintessence of the term
Uttering the taste,
Preserving the ultraviolet meaning, the idea of-
The taste.