Untitled (needs a new title & some work on line breaks, sugestions?)

Love, when I think of you,
a taste of bad rhubarb molts in my mouth
and moves
upward into my eye,
an almond of loneliness

It's when I look for lost thing
that I always find you
[tabbed here]There you are,
in the cupboard
in my pocket
under the vase...