I Grew Hungry

Sitting with you, I grew hungry
again—though not the way starved men,
weak, trembling with ravenous pangs,
hunger, gluttonous past reason—

my hunger was for the after-
table quiet when slow tongues taste
coffee, chocolate, blackberries
in their warm darkness, bitter-tinged.

About John MacKenzie

I'll mumble for ya. Poetry, plus most things quantifiable: science, neuroscience, memory, epistemology, baseball. And so on.
This entry was posted in Art is lies, Blackberries, John MacKenzie, New poems, Poem tweets, Poetry, Quatrains and tagged , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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