Moist., by Ben Foster

The grass after the chill of night, coated in a fresh morning dew.

Moist.

The cool air after rainfall.

Moist.

The soil of the fields after the sky opens up with a life-giving downpour.

Moist.

The delicious tears of my enemies.

Moist.

The most delicious sponge cake.

Moist.

The perfectly roasted Thanksgiving turkey.

Moist.

The sand on the beach, licked by the smooth ocean waves.

Moist.

The nose of a playful dog.

Moist.

The outside of a glass filled with a cool, refreshing beverage.

Moist.

The towel after drying off following a refreshing shower.

Moist.

The armpits of an out-of-shape man after vigorous physical activity.

Moist.

The sidewalk near the sprinklers that spray too far.

Moist.

The stone walls of an old, cold castle basement.

Moist.

The sweaty palms of a nervous job applicant waiting for his interview.

Moist.

The goat blood for the ritual.

Moist.

-Benjamin Foster

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7 Comments

  1. dsnitkin

    Why? What was thinking?

    • theimaginatemagazine

      Well the poet intended in to be a joke when he wrote it. However, it had a fairly solid poetic structure, so we published it online to see who would like it. Did you?

  2. dsnitkin

    I’m a little confused

  3. dsnitkin

    Thanks

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