PLANT-BASED BREAKFAST OF CHAMPIONS
You let me borrow
Breakfast of Champions
After the second date.
We watched the gardener next door
Pick their crops, and I confess that I just found out
Coriander and cilantro are the same thing.
Succulents typically grow on newly plucked leaves,
And you have many of sizes and shapes
Adorning your windowsills.
Your back is fertilized with sweat,
And I plant kisses on you
Hoping something beautiful will grow.
Something like
Coriander or cilantro or especially mint
Because every time I kiss you, I feel fresh.
April showers supposedly bring May flowers,
But I cried ecstacy beside you in mid-May,
Planted upon you, in bloom.
My soil used to be sprinkled in lead
Ignoring the Surgeon General’s warnings.
You replace my coping mechanisms with your green thumb.
You help me remember my
Breakfast of Champions
Isn’t you plucking my cherries.
It’s waking up next to your back
With minute saplings sprouting
And you accepting my bad metaphors.
It’s Vonnegut rolling in his grave
Six feet below
Our lack of sarcasm and irony.
It’s the gravestone where my
Six feet deep of mistakes
Drown with vines against the limestone.
It’s completely forgetting
I was once lead
And excited that there are new chapters to start.
I haven’t started reading
Breakfast of Champions
Because I am finishing Mother Night.
Leafing through this other Vonnegut book,
Swaying with the cast shadows of branches,
Lulling to sleep in a new story where I am
Patching a nest in your arms,
Uprooting myself from cynicism,
And planting kisses on your cheek
Confident in someone beautiful.
amandla
titsay
vaporwave
