> I wonder what clouds would taste like

I wonder what clouds would taste like

clean rain, or warm bread just pulled from the oven,

the hush between two heartbeats,

the first lilac of spring crushed between fingers,

the velvet shade beneath old oak leaves,

colors we literally cannot see (how rude of the universe),

the patient kiss of rain against evening glass,

and yes, the quiet, living salt of anus—

that small, forbidden rose no one speaks of,

yet the tongue dreams of anyway.