Gridlocked richable;plateau paired with pineapple. Flavour sprung to the strung out planets. All popped up along the circle horizon. I’ll taste the confetti from the sun, piece together the cheese that falls from the moon. I’ll even drink the wine from a glass.
Songs, hawks, sunshine. It’s bringing me whacky, on a platter of fine china, the gold a little tacky. Sticky to my fingers, as I crack them over raw eggs, sizzling in their bubbling form, threatening to lift off pan and be magic carpet of yolk and white.
My tears that slope the curved hills are salted with joy and spiced with purpose. They water the songs of my skin with notes of ranged oblivion. My breath tends my internal city, cooking to perfection. Oxygen steams the veintables;my bones saturate in flavored fat
She wisked up a tornado when I let her have the clouds and the grey
She shook night so hard that it turned into day.
She then grabbed the sun and bit in the middle
and now everything’s bigger then when it was little.