A Spiced Life

a poem in response to this prompt by Terijo for Chalkboard

Photo — my own

Try this spice, she said innocently, 
placing a crumbly, innocuous mixture along my lifeline
that leapt onto my tongue in a heated love bite 
of amber dragons kissing under eucalyptus rains, 
delicately touching the saffron fibers of a baked, pungent earth, 
gathering stardust peppercorns sprinkled gently on their wings 
while chasing chilies through Orion’s belt buckle, 
before a slow, deliberate waltz through smoky ashes of hellfire, 
creating a cardamom-infused, ginger love child 
in its flames that I name Shangri-La 
while it explodes in my mouth.

Then I bought a bottle for $4.99.

~ Me, at the Indian spice market in Philadelphia

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