Black hole of sour


Peaches and mangoes,

Such sweetness,

Dripping down

My pretty painted fingernails.

But so               predictable.


Sour, on the delicious contrary,

Tastes of secrets, of shudders, of shocks,

Of that luscious sick feeling.


And so I fall, out of control,

Guts akimbo,

Into the black hole of



Where there is no return.

No matter.

I don’t want out anyway.