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fleshofamango's Journal

The taste of a mango
reminds me of rot.
It leaves a rich flavor
like the fertile loam dredged up from
some Amazonian swamp.
Don’t give me them on sunny weekdays
when the fecundity of the earth is too
fierce for my Midwestern mind.
That sweetness can’t help but recall moments best conjured in darkness
Today these hot winds are our all
beneath lilac and opal blue
Let daylight hours be cooled
with seltzer and lime juice,
the odor of pines
But in the night
you should come to me.
This night.
And bring with you
red wine,
sweet like honey,
And the flesh of a mango.

"The mind I love must have wild places, a tangled orchard where dark damsons drop in the heavy grass, an overgrown little wood, the chance of a snake or two, a pool that nobody's fathomed the depth of, and paths threaded with flowers planted by the mind."