...Carmen Noriega...

Carmen rests upon my tongue,

and I herewith savor the flavor, 

yet what has been diction defined 

by such a salacious word as “savor”?

Pleasure versus dis…pleasure. 

Carmen rests upon my tongue 

and I am helpless to remove her. 

For said salivate would swirl as spit—

a passion pool of she and I, 

blended hence petit mal die. 

Carmen rests upon my tongue 

whilst there in the distant room, 

some tea kettle begins its scream of scald 

and here rouse rank sensation. 

Carmen’s fluid percolation 

now present upon my palate. 

Her somata of self, dire dispersed. 

Steeped unto languored liquid. 

She but sachet of tinctured tea 

lowered into my cup, 

and the lap of my tongue…

and the lap of my tongue… 

and the lap of my tongue 

come to cross her porcelain brim. 

Would any be stunned unto wonder 

that a woman such as this 

would fail to taste beautiful? 

Carmen Noriega was 

without a doubt quite beautiful, 

and here you envision such beauty 

having never caste eyes upon face. 

Carmen Noriega was indeed beautiful, 

yet what is to make such a statement 

if not to also acknowledge past tense?

What need the attainment 

of said ultimate allure if not 

also give sway to its loss? 

Was she not   ever so?    

Lo, but ever implies forever, 

and she now deemed finite. 

At twenty-seven years of age, 

the beauty which was Carmen Noriega 

sadly went missing, and 

   with it her body as well. 

For ten whole months 

they searched for her in vain. 

They in search of said beauty yet 

such beauty unseen, now in transition. 

A cup of tea. 

A mug of coffee. 

A bowl of broth. 

The flavor of blended beauty. 

Residents of Carmen’s apartment complex 

began to complain about the taste 

of the water coming out of their taps.

After ten long months 

a partially decomposed body 

was found floating in 

the apartment’s water tank. 

Carmen Noriega 

here rests upon my tongue, 

and yet try as I might, 

I still can’t get her off. 

Ó2017 Jack David Hubbell