You, the madeleine
to my Proust.
Form of peach,
soft in my palm.
Caress and peel,
your skin, my hands
Gasping memory,
your taste, my tongue.
In summer windows
the sky turning purple,
brazen sun sets on me
as I swallow you
and weep, slightly.
15 August 2010
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sigh...
ReplyDeletesweet taste of late summer memories
wow.
ReplyDeleteBeautiful.
ReplyDeletemmm, so now share more the memory of this peach. What are you recalling? Isn't is amazing how the slightest taste or smell or even one or two notes can take you some place immediately? I hate it when I can't call the exact memory back as quickly...it is in there festering, and as my mind pokes and prods at it, it retreats even farther.....then, when I stop messing with it, a beautiful, long forgotten memory rushes in....mmmmm BLISS
ReplyDeleteHard to get that feel and taste out of the head.
ReplyDelete