Gastronomy Poem

The grape kiss,
its fleshy tang and sweet uplift;
the marmalade kiss,
the humble kiss of buttered toast
on the tongue
that prematurely
led upstairs again;
the white wine kiss
and its inexplicable
acceleration to cognac;
but the kiss I remember most
with its golden, resonant succulence
is the roast parsnip kiss.

Steve Griffiths
To be published in Poetry Wales April 07