Pore over your dry-roasted life.
Taste it simple, unsalted and bland,
and predictably packed so tightly
to fit in the palm of her hand.

Put on hold your flavor-filled days.
Taste them, trying, unscripted and true,
and undoubtedly spent so fully
to keep her out of your view.

Return from your airborne transition.
Recall it bitter, passing and cruel -
the aftertaste from peanuts
that never leave you full.

09/29/2002

Posted on 04/24/2003
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