The taste on my tongue

lingers

in some impossible realm,

Incubated and frozen

between

the bitter and the sweet.

Only in this anticipation

of no expectation

can my hope survive,

my will can remain alive.

It is all about the balance,

the limbo

of limbic proportions,

I am to remain here,

I believe,

For infinite eternity,

the breath held-

Caught between the taste in

the cloying saltiness,

Like that of the wife-legend of Lot;

the shifting of flesh

the moment before

the pillar was formed.