
What does
it mean to let
come what may?
Formless words
dense with
abstraction
dripping with
the tart juices
of something
less than love
and greater
than reason
shock a tongue
expecting
the tickle
of sweet
fruits and
nothings
tasted and
whispered
after the
world was
asleep
and only
the stars
were
watching.
Bitter fruits
growing from
the soft petals
of decadent words
(with vibrant hues
and sweet aromas
that trick the bees
into yielding
poisonous honey)
are innocent
carriers of the
impolite pain
of sacred words
lightly thrown
into the face
of a one who
craves them
like breadcrumbs
toward the
eager beak of
a starving pigeon.
Renee Novosel
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