Lonliness (Tastes) Poem by Eric Cockrell

lonliness...
tastes like,
blood crusted on the lips,
the hint of brandy that lingers.
the first smoke
when you walk free from jail.
the crust of the pie,
the tongue of first love.
the soft place
on the back of your neck.
smoke and soot and greyness
as you walk the city streets.
the meat cooked long and slow,
falling apart in your mouth.
the trace of garlic,
the bitter shock of gunpowder.
gravel dust, spring water, ...
the last kiss,
a black and white photograph.