Lynne Sargent

I am still discovering
all the flavours of you:

as though I am witch,
learning to identify which parts
to pluck, under what circumstance

what will brew into soothing tea
what spice will lead to delirium

today you are
sharp and salt- brined, dark
and bitter coffee, stained
with red dust

hallucinogenic, transporting
as though we are on a crystal beach
not quite as green as your eyes.

Tomorrow a mother will come,
beg tonic for her daughter,
and I, jealous will not give them
your early buds

the ones that taste like home,
that my tongue is more practiced at
clinging to, the one that can slip down
sweet fire and soothe crying babes

instead, I give the analogue, generic
the cinnamon she has always known
the mint and bergamot to soothe the last
of it.

Then I will find you in the forest again,
slake my need with discovery, find new sweetness
bringing the full flower of your petals
to my lips, again.

Lynne Sargent is a writer and philosopher from Hamilton, ON. When she is not writing she performs circus with Steel the Sky Aerial Arts. You can find more of her poetry existent or forthcoming through Strange Horizons, Wild Musette, and Polar Borealis and find her philosophical writings online at moralguillotines.wordpress.com.