At a high enough speed
One corn muffin, please
I stare at his mouth
The waitress sets the muffin down
If we were at his place
Can a motorcycle? A bicycle?
Could you toast this, please? And more butter?
We’d be kissing, his hands fumbling
I spread the butter
At my shirt, my hands in his hair
The butter melts, filling all the
Slamming the door, stumbling
I don’t think human power can do that
Crevasses with sweet richness
To his room, his bed
Humans can’t break that barrier
The muffin crumbles
I clutch his vial, hidden in my pocket
The moon sets
My coffee is cold
Mist snakes through the columbaria
It is Tuesday.
No comments:
Post a Comment