Ever since I found out that earth worms have taste buds
all over the delicate pink strings of their bodies,
I pause dropping apples into the compost bin,
imagining the dark writhing ecstasy,
the sweetness of apples permeating their pores.
I offer beets and parsley,
avocado and melon,
and the feathery tops of carrots.
I'd always thought theirs a menial life,
eyeless and hidden,
almost vulgar - though now it seems,
they bear a pleasure so sublime, so decadent,
I want to contribute however I can,
forgetting, a moment, my place on the menu.
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