I don’t like mango but
I’m compelled to consume


to savor the liquid,
label all the rays

upon my tongue,
such sweet perspicacity.

A citrusy mist

collides with taste
at the speed of sound,

an explosive parade
of chest-bound fate.

I am an imposter
but I taste city lights,

the salty crunch,
a chlorine sting,

a comet tail stuttering,
an aural cascade of sky

falling into place.