The unappeased tongue.
Searching out that stuck morsel,
In the lower deck
Worrying it,
Flicking, dabbing,
Saliva slashing.
Pushing, prodding,
Licking, probing,
Seeking purchase,
Seeking indication of
Wedged out movement.
There it is!
Sliding away so easily
and now emerging,
on index finger,
the smallest white coconut shred,
a muesli entrail.
But no time for celebration.
It’s off again,
The tongue,
In search of new quarry.
Bill Wootton
25.12.12
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