The Taste of Poetry

To say that poetry tastes
like the salt of tears falling on a beach
may be true;
but perhaps too trite and obvious.
 
It also tastes like sugary marshmallow fingers
mixed with the sour tang of wood smoke
as friends share hearts in campfire songs.
 
Poetry tastes
like the bitter bile of recalled fear
when memories circle  
too close to the heart.
 
It tastes like the heady sweetness
of summer grasses at dusk
when eyes start to shine from thickets,
and like snowflakes descending
from heaven to tongue,
unique until the moment of contact.
 
Poetry tastes
like the cherry chapstick of a first kiss,
and the apple pie she baked for the family
the night she finally decided to leave.