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.