“Hope is the thing with flowers-
That hangs upon the wall.-
I wait ‘til harvest to eat-
The sweetest fruit of them all.”
Allow me to remove the roof of my mouth.
To read the raised bumps on my tongue
The phrenology of taste, rigid
in its exactness.
On the right, On the right,
(Blessed are those on the right.)
The petals of vanilla–
A white light to carry you.
On the Left, On the left,
(Damned are those on the left.)
The fruit of Tantalus–
A white light to consume you.