I taste it because it might taste of honey. I taste it because my brain is a hive. I taste it because I'm properly assimilated. I taste it because I was an only child and refused to share the oranges in the playground. I taste it because I never travelled. I taste it because I've travelled to the frozen tundra of the Northern Arctic. I taste it because of the lack, I taste it because of the surplus. I taste it because Auntie Naveen's best friend tasted it and she never looked back. I taste it because I pity it (to some degree). I taste it because it smells nice. I taste it because of shavings of bones on the wind. I taste it because it might be like the first time (though it's never like the first time).I taste it because I'm perfumed, shameless, godless. I taste it because I'm curious, because of its integrity, its shape, its asking to be tasted. I taste it because I'm scared. I taste it because I don't want to be scared anymore. I taste it because I'm gagging on all the departures. I taste it because of salt. I taste it because nothing is as holy as intimacy because I want it to purr and stink inside me. I taste it because I'm on a civilising mission. I taste it because of Japan. I taste it because I miss the children. I taste it because I tilted the baby last night, gave her a name and forgot it. I taste it because I'm losing my verbs. I taste it because this morning, I saw the first crocus push through the earth and it was yellow. With my tongue I taste it.