Robert Beveridge

Indian Summer

The touch of grated
daikon on the tongue, smooth
warmth against the taste
buds, coolness of vegetable.
You take a sip of your drink,
pull an ice cube
into your mouth, hold it,
kiss me.

Robert Beveridge makes noise (xterminal.bandcamp.com) and writes poetry in Akron, OH. Recent/upcoming appearances in Savant-Garde, Other People’s Flowers, and The Indiana Horror Review, among others.