Self-Made

When I'm by myself,

I hum a little melody.

Sometimes it's sweet,

so the taste of strawberries

lingers for just a little while longer.

Most of the time,

I mix it with a little bit of lime,

just for a sour rush.

My eyes squeeze themselves shut

with each pang of flavour.

An explosion occurs,

and the melody becomes

a mixture of sounds

going from flat

to sharp

to everywhere in between.

I pray it stays a little longer,

so that I can remember the taste

every morning.

Yet, each morning,

a new melody starts in my head.

I remember dreaming of blueberries

and lemon,

of papayas and oranges,

mangoes and carrots;

anything bursting with life.

I become my own cocktail,

but I leave the whiskey

out of the equation.