of an old man's fingernails

ancient, weary body

one last smooth thing on him-the fingernail.

Mini Sweet Pepper, when I hear you splitting,

I think of the time when everything is wet,

the snow starts to melt,

the first signs of spring literally rise out of the ground,

small holes in the ground hide little bugs.

They recognize that warmth is here

and dig their way out of the snow,

out of hibernation,

to the sky above.

Mini Sweet Pepper, inside your hollow body

a pretty layer of skin enfolds you

gleaming with pride

Mini Sweet Pepper, your heart feels like the disturbing wet day in spring

with all the little holes in the snow,

always wet, autumn,

the exciting yet somewhat miserable space before winter.

Mini Sweet Pepper, your fragrance tastes like a tomato

with an obsession with wine.

Not to get drunk, no, but a tomato that loves the odd bitterness

"It tastes like me! Unbearably odd and unexpected."

Mini Sweet Pepper, why do you taste like the weekend?