There are days when you’re just too sweet
There are nights when you’re just so sour
Still I savor your taste when between my teeth
Thank heavens for grapes!
I cook now
Only your favorite recipes
It makes me feel closer to you
Onions reek of tears. Mushrooms have the same aroma of the earth. Grapefruits fill one’s nose with deceitfulness. A whiff of a ripe banana is unfriendly and a clementine aggressive. An apple has a soft radiant quality to it, like raw spinach, which resembles the scent of the sun, while lemons provide an adventurous scent that teleports about the room. Garlic smells hateful. Cinnamon is flirtatious; honey bitter and seductive. Oregano is less attractive but captivating in its promise of sweetness. Grapes flaunt their pureness; cloves their promiscuity; carrots their indifference. Ginger holds a sour resentfulness in one’s nose. Nutmeg functions as its lighter alternative. Cayenne pepper and jalapenos make hot a smell. Vanilla is pleasing and warm, so unlike the prickly scent of vinegar, yet much like the delightful tenderness of blueberries. With one’s eyes closed raisins can be mistaken for polluted grapes. Peaches perfume the air with sophistication; pears fall somewhere between the former fruits, not too meek and not too feisty. Watermelons, and only watermelons, have the fragrance of second chances.
(Originally published at the Eunoia Review here.)