Barb Black Poet I do not know?

To Taste

it might be
kids growing weed-like to manhood 
or my wanting to be with you 
time trickles elusively
I try to hold on 
it drips 
honey from my hands 
yawning to the ground 
washed away in the rain 
oh, to lick 
each precious bit 
from my fingers 
suck its sweetness 
until I am sick with it 
sticky with it 
greedy
wanting all of you at once 
not satisfied 
with delicious spoonfuls 
shining gems 
the jar tips again 
my days 
pour unremarked 
I reach 
to catch a taste
of lazy afternoon in your arms 
sweetness

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