My tasteless tongue.
I have not ate a loss like
this before.
Too tough to chew,
too rough to swallow;
a full, red cannon shot,
due side….
and I trickle,
fickle little
droplets,
despair, first,
then gratitude.
Grace comes with poisonous tips, at times,
with faint cucumber breeze, at others,
but always honest!
My tongue has died with
sour grief, with
acidic injury, a loss I have not
taste before
now. I want
not!
maggiemaeijustsaythis 