A therapeutic walk around the garden
produced a taste explosion:
lurking under a tangle of bindweed,
a honeyed fragrance lures me to explore.
I think that I’m in heaven –
first stolen fruit excels Eve’s sinful apple
by a million miles.
Soft pink in flavour, kind in the mouth,
I lift another leaf to find the treasure,
tear at the bindweed to reveal more.
Squeezing joy between tongue and palate
I run for a bowl, on second thoughts, two.
Divine though the flavour of first found fruit,
when halved in a bowl
with a generous dollop
of thick gloopy cream
and a sprinkling of fine sugar,
the final ecstasy exceeds all.