Sometimes, I write poems.
Friday, June 04, 2010
My nostrils flare at the scent of dead meat
roasted and ready resting in the cheapest
whitest bread known to human civilization.
Yours have other designs -- sensing sugar
and fun -- pink whims of a child on a paper
roll spun as though invented for you alone.
I let my stomach rumble as I watched you at
those superfluous strands of nothingness --
tearing off your cotton candy -- I fell in love.
c. Ciprianowords, Inc., 2010
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