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What’s the Taste of your Question?

They asked me

what my last meal

tasted like,

I told them

I had a cup of spaghetti

as a side dish

and a plate

full of laughing calories,

I held a tug of war

between my emotions and tongue,

which ended up leaving a knot

in my throat,

and when I swallowed,

my spaghetti

tasted like muscle tension.

They say

it is easiest to lose weight

when you don’t eat at all,

and the second easiest

is to let your tongue

eat a feast

yet – alter the digestion,

so I boasted

how I made a dessert

out of my fingers,

and dipped it

inside my sinful mouth,

I made an alley

out of my esophagus,

where my food ran

to and from,

yet – still, it ended

in a few minutes,

down with the flush.

But,

next time,

when they ask me again,

how my last meal was

with the same mocking smile

on their face,

I would tell them instead

that it was too good

that I ate two servings,

I would tell them,

that instead,

I am trying to place

the odd taste

of their question

on my tongue,

it isn’t sweet nor salty,

not sour nor bitter,

not even umami,

that maybe

if I could name the taste,

it would fit –

a taste of regret,

I would tell them,

I pity the mouth

where that question resides.

©ariachezfeb052019

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