What You Taste Poem by James McLain

Eating apples makes it sweet.
Are you under stress?
Is it sour from the drive to long
at rest.
Hidden there improper words some thinking
never spoken your at ease.
Turning channels never reading lips instead I.
Instead you what.
Hidden
never breathing under cotton it feels hot.
Lips that touch
but never feel becuse the nun was often what.
I touch the moon I feel the rift and it is as it is.
I reach around and touch the front
one shiver and it's out the mercurial silver spoon.