[Michael Cantor]

Here's one that was in Lucid Rhythms recently.


Aubadergine

Awakening, I still can taste your flesh,
the soul contained within the supple
skin you wear, voluptuous and purple.
I have been warned you are the path to madness
and yet, despite the crumbs and salt that kiss
and linger on my lips, there is no brutal
morning-after sting; but just the sweet and subtle
whisper of a roasted scrap, a speck of crust;
a bitter lemon and the scent of thyme;
the rapture in the olive grove, and you as mine.