He opens the door and takes my hand, this poet, and all the poets of years past.
Smithies of words, welding and forging sculptures from symbols, linear and curvaceous.
He gently leads me into the workshop, the wordsmith’s forge of literary delights…
Words surround me.
I taste the words, does everybody taste words?
They have flavours, textures, viscosity.
Some words are spiky and sting, others are mellifluous and enveloping.
Luscious. Rolling round the tongue, filling the mouth with warmth and pleasure.
Some words taste bitter… Their meanings leave a coating on the roof of the mouth, a need to scrub it away.
Then the sweet, sweet taste of a lover’s words, pouring down the throat and spreading ripples of delight.
Velvet chocolate coated words arranged perfectly not just for your ears to hear, but for all your senses to experience.
Salty words, sad sad salty teared words that wash waves of pity, despair and torment up onto the beaches of your heart, sucking you back, down into the dark depths.
Words that form bubbles that pop on your tongue with delight, space dust words zinging around your mouth causing you to laugh out loud at the tickles and fizz.
I gaze around in delight, in awe of this magic kingdom I have been allowed to experience.
I turn to the poet. “What now?” I ask “What do I do now?”
“Take them” he replies “Take the words, play with them, juggle with them, throw them in the air and see where they land…
But don’t forget to love them, savour them….taste them…”