I’ve been the apricot
in a box of peaches
and the only honey
in the comb
but I’ve never
been the apple of your

I’ve been the crop’s
the butter on your
and spilled the milk
that made you cry.

Love is a delicacy
and we aren’t on
the menu
or the chef’s mind
because I am insatiable and I
can always have a bite.

But what becomes of
shall remain in the compost
and we won’t remember
our appetites in the morning
because we are so
full at night.

2 thoughts on “Delicacy

  1. Don says:

    So good, this poem opened the truth and allowed the reader to look inside of it, so nicely done.

    Liked by 1 person

  2. Don says:

    UPDATE: Does “I can always have a bite” and “we aren’t on the menu or the chef’s mind” signify a specific fact about yourself as far as what you do or will do for one’s appetite?

    Sounds to me like one can’t get enough of you?


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s

Frank Solanki

If you want to be a hero well just follow me


Memoir style writing from a rainy island in Alaska.


Your Source For The Good Things Black People Do, Give and Receive All Over The World

Piper's Adventures

Mississippi life culture lifestyles inspiration

Librarian to Librarian

Join the conversation!


Hope. Joy.. Feelings cloaked as words.

On Art and Aesthetics

Exploring creativity and beauty across different media. Scholarly and journalistic. Lushly illustrated. Passionately global.

Destination Humanity

Chasing big dreams one photo at a time

territori del '900

identità luoghi scritture del '900 toscano

%d bloggers like this: