the internal winter

Tasting the wind and the coffee finally cold
Hope rides the sun over your shoulder like morning
Equally sharing a color that soup can share
In a number of minutes the salt will meet water and
Nocturnal flavor will drive the heat into vegetable
Turning the kitchen into friends that gather
Egg joins tomato while onions are the raft capers riddle on
Red swirls in a circle, imitating the view of a
Naturally gathering funnel of clouds or storm from above
Across your skin the chill of October touches
Long strands of flavorful pepper and honey co-mingle
Windows show that snowy clouds are low
Inside the spoon small spices mix like butterflies
No spiciness or sweetness until after the meat
The whole woodland forest is what I picture with this smell
Ending with a stewing bowl of yum
Really warming all the way to yawn

About jaybeasley2

a writer, a painter, a poet, a wordsmith
This entry was posted in poems, poetry and tagged , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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