The Poetry of Mark Daniel Milbocker 
The Aftertaste of Age

Dry leaves smelling like cocoa powder
Gently steeped with curious reverence 
Long and thin twisted canoes of
yellowed tendrils handpicked and 
gently cajoled into the style of wulong
dissolved into water carefully distilled
and salted by a stainless steel kettle
the liquor brews pale yet umber in my cup

but now I am here, crying, spilling my heart 
in memories, quivering as if hugged by a ghost
the leaves taste tired, so tired, I know this
sensation so deeply, learned from lost scars
I chuckle through the sobs remembering I am
supposed to be writing tasting notes, but 
how could I judge leaves so elder
I am the one quavering at the toll of
this Maha Tissada Gandha of teas
sour yet evanescent, unsweet yet unastringent
base tone deeply sour with antique woods as if charred in cocoa casks
middle note barely suggestive of fruits and free of flowers
the top note eddies in my imagination as if I will find 
a decoction of medicinal macerated berries at the bottom
these are poor words for what I have no further desire
to describe or conceptually cage, for in such treasured moments
I sit across from a passerby whose incomprehensible countenance 
is so dearly familiar I am glad I was old enough to taste.
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