The stem is where the taste is, take my stem and take my life.

White and crisp and stringy with the taste of yellow grass, a lick of lemonsweet.

Imagine a lemon that didn’t make your lips pucker and your teeth crack, your tongue taste sour.

I only deign to grow where the sun shines yellow and wet all year round. Seasonal sun is just for dry lemons, hard skinned Mediterraneans.

But this moist sun makes me delicate. Unbearable sweaty heat for mammals, sweet for me.


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