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VI. Synesthesia (II).

by Eli Skipp

Because of a switch in the brain he understands sound both
as sound and as flavor. There is thus church music that tastes
like tomato tortellini soup, and sex that quenches like melting
ice.

This does not, however, work in reverse: ten-cent ramen noodles
and cold soy sauce does not necessarily imply the first-Tuesday-
of-the-month-test-siren, though it does the other way ‘round.
As a result his meals feel colorless.

Every once in a while this girl calls him while she is with someone
else, and leaves the phone to the side, and allows him to lap at her
own experiences – to loll amongst derisive laughter or the coo of an
offer accepted.

She does this during dinnertime especially. If she is alone, she will
sing for him in terrible pitch and read portions of data sheets about
Texas Instruments microchips, a spice to an otherwise dull consumption.
She is compiling a lexicon of tastes in the hopes of building a taste-opera
tailored specifically to him, a twelve course meal of crossed wires.

04/08/2011

Posted on 04/08/2011
Copyright © 2019 Eli Skipp

Member Comments on this Poem
Posted by Laura Doom on 10/04/11 at 10:35 AM

enjoyed travelling your spice-time continuum

Posted by Rob Littler on 06/12/12 at 12:33 PM

my image is of The Stranger, that detached narration introduces me to a character in "she" i want to know more about--she, who would gladly allow such gorging of the ear to taste. "If music be the food of love, play on, Give me excess of it; that surfeiting, The appetite may sicken, and so die." Twelfth Night(1,1,1)

Posted by Michael Faraday on 10/15/13 at 03:02 AM

Well said. Enjoyed it! m

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