pan-fried grief over a couple of sunny-side ups
i believed. grinning cat, pinched cheeks: someday someday. no crime equals this.
she believed, believed. her flesh a language – there has to be some true words?
belief, a butterfly. a stick of butter that flies. greasing everything it lands on. its easy and slip and fall on a belief-fly.
scramble me over hash, feed on me, i’m an omen. omen and coffee and a smoke lingering in the kitchen over the sink. another time. before. before she tried everything.
walking to her, wearing her legs, speaking to her, wearing my mouth. hear her slur between puffs: dad’s staying out late, so how about pancakes for dinner? pass me the belief-fly and maple syrup, sticky hands. we should have clutched, never ever let go.
who needs lunch or dinner? and brunch is entirely fabricated. she’s my every consumption.
now – anemic slump, a glaze gaze and no beliefs
flowery stache tombstone grin. a monument for someone else.
i’m a monument for someone else.
i want to be breakfast with you.
