The tongue is more akin to a lasso than a harpoon, The way it winds itself round words. Some tie knots in strings and cherry stems, but this wet mouth-dwelling muscle of mine Weaves spells with slight and sinew. In my nose, right now, is the smell of the dark over my primary school on… Continue reading Weds 14th Oct ’20, 20:08.
I have never liked the taste of saffron, It sits acrid on my palette; Chemical collusion swilled round my tongue, my mouth awash with atomic ink. But the scent In a candle A tropic dream. Heady-sweet, as in natural spice The warm bite and licorice swell of cinnamon, Like a bath in opulent oils, Damask… Continue reading Tuesday, the 6th of February, 2018, ‘Twixt afternoon and evening time. Saffron.