If I could but taste your thoughts....

Would they be greasy?
Grimy, dirty, filthy, slips of momentary lapses in judgment,
Good clean consciousness.

Would they be crisp linen clean?
A throwback to some childish notion of peace and fair games.
Sun soaked slipping and sliding summers.

Orange saturated autumns.

Glass plated looking glasses at a foreign zoo?

Would they sour?
An acrid atrocity for our fellow man, woman, and child.

The thoughtless tinkering of a sociopathic, soul sucking misogynist.
The Mormon thumbed polygamy.

Would they smell like cinnamon?

A steaming cup of consciousness.
Ramen noodle,
Spinning and swirling away from every spoonful glimpse.

Poetry, pen,
Speech, lips,

If I could but taste your thoughts,
That would truly be delicious,
But food can be bland,
Or gritty like sand.

But hell, that’s just food for thought.