ever since i found out that earthworms have taste buds
all over the delicate pink strings of their bodies,
i pause dropping apple peels into the compost bin,
imagine the dark, writhing ecstasy,
the sweetness of apples permeating their pores.
i offer beets and parsley, avocado, and melon, 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.