Radishwhip

A froth or a slash?
From a flask,
foaming slaps
taste, splayed
off the tongue.

Sensation is searching
for shores
in the skull. Past flora
flickers a brain,
flashing the pan.

Fahrenheit
sizzling, thirst climbs
to press prickly lips—
gasping for water
in cacti kisses.

Vegetation
is vascular rapture:
sailing on blush. Waving
splinters the grin:
ravishes!

Copyright © by Kevan Copeland