Continued…

An unquenchable thirst held at bay by the chewing of gum. The flavour dissolves, stolen by a parched tongue. A piece of tasteless, pale grey shape-shifting matter takes on the imprint of youthful, sharp molars.

Spit it out, keen for the introduction of the next fleeting flavour.

Tang on the tongue must be interrupted, for the yearning to create makes itself known. The paint brush chooses blossom pink and high gloss red. The bold strokes are marked with the gestures and gusto of a manic composer, who has seen fit to close her eyes and open her mouth.

Now ravenous, the aroma of cinnamon births a yearning for home-made apple pie.

It’s a hollow hankering, for the apple orchards have all been burned with an unbridled enthusiasm.