green on white on olive the smell of contentment wafting from my red lacquered bowl before i sip i stare bright like a food blog almost can't find must find my camera it's gone can't find the broth turns the color of nostalgia like all the other snaps i've never shot indelible imprinted on my heart that i can't share can't say this was the sunlight of his smile the blink of his lashes ...
blood spills the secrets run out my heart cannot hide in this tilted bowl
perched on my second story window sill a pigeon waits. i hear it flapping its wings every morning. don't know why it says hi it's been doing this since the end of summer, flying daily into my pane. near a vietnamese restaurant (mirrored across the street - "Saigon 2") mashed straws and napkins grow on the sidewalk and a peckish sparrow alights near tourists' pretzels ...
you said i don't know how to love maybe you're right. i know how to bend light and watch it disappear i can turn prisms into death rays i can darken july. i have seen your arms become wardens for your heart, guarding you. they used to hold but now imprison me never touching they bolt me into myself. there is a little white sheet over ...
i will stop screaming if you give me the whole pi
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