Monday, September 16, 2013

POEM - Licorice. Black. No Chaser.

He dropped into the chair
Lightly
Smiling at the sun
Shinning in streams
From the old front window

With a long crooked finger
Raised to his thin lips
And a wink of his eye
He has a secret to share

The green crystal dish
With the cut class lid
Is filled with small packages
Shiny purple labels
Wrapped around soft black cubes

He smiles knowingly
As I bite in
Experiencing the treat
For the first time

The sun still filters in
Now falling across my face
I chew deeply

Licorice filling my senses



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