ode to a pistachio
shelled you are green,
ever so green,
to the tongue
ever green,
i want your taste
in the long afternoons.
to taste you
simple,
unsalted,
and clean
the green
underneath
the thin blonde skin.
the green
where the thinking’s done.
no.
i do not know
of what
you think, nor will—
but for now
i savor
this one
all i taste, imbibe,
and discover—
all that is green,
all that is good.
yes.