Adding sherry to chicken
is like adding your sweet
words to my day.
The taste is so smooth
and sweet.
Poetry | Stories | Photography
Adding sherry to chicken
is like adding your sweet
words to my day.
The taste is so smooth
and sweet.
Smashing saucepans in the air.
Running,
Fluttering,
Humming,
and
Mumbling,
here,
there,
and
everywhere.
The washing machine
of my
life keeps fucking with
my clothes.
Getting down to the beat
in the bathtub.
Water is splashing
everywhere.
I kick my toe on the tap.
AHHHHHH!
Rubbing against the silky oak
table feels like
rubbing my face against
the underside of your
arm; so smooth.
Taking horizontal lounge chair enthusiasm to a whole new level.
We watch three seasons and end up with bendy necks.
Sliding through the coffee table, I shout, “Oh no, I’m stuck!”
My significant other tickles me as I wriggle to be free.
In my struggle, the top of the coffee table comes loose.
I am free, but my favourite cup breaks; there are many tears.
Rubbing yourself against
the carpet.
Hoping he will tickle
your feet again.
Climbing up the bookcase
trying to find you.
Up and up I climb,
looking at all the
dust and grime.
Spending precious time,
only to find that you
are hiding in the wardrobe.
Making a cake for you.
Losing the will to live.
I stand in the middle of it all, contemplating sticking my hand in the blender.