Inside they are
But our speaking has lemon taste
Thinking purple thoughts
Tarts on a smorgasbord of emotions
Split down a fine line
Interchange and find both
The path is not clear but is not distant
It’s a funny feeling but it’s not poison. So it is eaten.
The food tastes bitter. Hunger makes it like the brightest star on night of dark shadows and stormy secrets.
The path goes towards a forest.
It is forbidden. None can enter unless they are of a different flavour cake. The choice just a few minutes has consequences.
Purple thoughts rose into red dark eyes and splits the soul in twain.
One goes back and eats the other flavor. It’s silken milky drops from the eyes of a new born foal, it’s juniper ripe on a Sunday after the last summer rain, it’s strawberries slowly melting in a early autumn snow.
Then the split one travels the forest. It’s path is still unclear, but in its pocket is a treasure. A secret box containing the other.