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The Poetic Palate
Are we the only animal that composes, and makes poetry, eats it, and, in the end, after the joy of having eaten it, rejoices in looking at what is left, still seeing poetry?.
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If there be the god of baking…
let there be harmony in this oven today, even though a sudden decision did not consider all ingredients, allowing the replacement of buttermilk with regular milk
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In the most beautiful, most gentle, most moving moments of tears, not those of physical pain, painful memories, sudden loss
in the joy of beautiful, gentle, moving tears, if not the body, what is being touched?
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