"Day 12 - Red Gum Honey
Colour: Another in the white wine series. This one has much of dawn over rivers to it, says Italian Pinot Grigio to me.
Smell: Pie crusts just shy of brown. A hint of molasses.
Taste: A perfect honey. It's all gold brown and dark sugar, all mellow, its texture that languorous liquid that makes women sing slow like honey in aching voices. It has this beautiful elasticity to it; I can twirl it around the imp's wand like I'm using it to sign my name. There's a vanilla flavour here, that must be the baking association. But it also casts my mind back to the first honeys I tasted, and I can't remember at all, now, when I first tasted honey - I think it must have been in a pita wrap with cheese, that's how my mother would have served it. I'll have to ask her. Meantime it's childhood and my grandmother and the word assal, and while I'm acutely aware of the each lovelier than the last dynamic in most of these descriptions, I think this is my favourite one to date."
Oh! Another languorous sensuous poem, quite delicious, and full of tempting innuendo. Unrequited love, in a triangle this time - I love him, and he loves her, and she won't be caught by whatever he does - sweet, and a little sad. I hesitate to call it a perfect poem, because what is that beast, anyway, but it is lovely. I would add nothing, I would remove nothing, and so it should be in the consideration for poetic perfection, if such exists.