that moment
right after you've finished reading
when the mind gets to digest
and what Jeffers referred to as
"The honey of peace"
lingers on the tongue
on your breath
the sweet aftertaste of language
bits of metaphors caught between the teeth
and small drops of verse rested on the corners
of your mouth
you don't wipe it away
but somehow it still disappears
so you flip the page and devour another
chewing some of the lines
and swallowing others whole
hoping that it makes you full
and keeps you hungry
all at once
each bite bringing you closer to the next
closer to a clean plate
closer to the poet
closer to yourself
closer to that feeling
the one that is supposed to happen
right
about...
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