The first time I tasted you

by Marge Piercy


The first time I tasted you I thought strange, metallic, musty with salt and cinnamon.
The sea and the kitchen,
safety and danger.

The second time I tasted you I thought known, already known, perhaps in an oasis of dream in the desert of a hot night, the dry wind parching me.

I tasted the fruit of a tree, that promised not life but love, the knowledge of being known at last. down to my gnarly pit.

What we know and don’t of each other goes on a voyage, not infinite, but long enough, notching years on our bones. 

From your body I eat and drink all I will ever know of passionate love from now till death drains the chalice