a poetic prose
how come you have never asked? i can see the way the question sits on your tongue. it has colored the thickness of it almost completely, leaving its taste in the sleekness of your cheeks and along the subtle roof ridges of your mouth. does the question taste like a mint or the well-harvested sweets found only in grandma’s purse? how heavy is it? does it make it hard to swallow? to say my name? go on, ask me. ask me how…
