Sunday, 2 December 2012

Day Two: 'The Private Taste of Ten November Seconds' by Camille Ralphs

The Private Taste of Ten November Seconds

of branches, grass.
You and I, frost-kissed
at the bus stop,
the air’s taste a cold
echo in the throat.

The summer berries
left shelling their ghosts
on the fridge shelf,
icy delicacies

tamped in plastic-
bagged trove.  How
I’d like to eat
you out 

of house and home,
toothsome gush
mouths slathered red.
Cool fruits.

You and I are crisp
lips and tongues of bark,
boarding the next
moment, thawing our fingers
in one-another’s palms.

Camille Ralphs

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