Lynn McGregor

The morning sun

The morning sun tastes like sweet raisins, like an over ripe paw paw, like late harvest wine, like the aftertaste of fynbos honey, like the first bite of a ripe fig. The morning sun tastes like the tart wake up of orange juice, like halva with nuts, like bitter chocolate not yet melting in the mouth, like the creamy taste of avocado, like dew on the tip of my tongue, like the lingering kiss of my lover, ardent silent and steaming.

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