The bag is half empty.
All evening, my right hand
swimming with cushions.
I pop in another
pink cylinder, squash the shell
with one bite.
A tinge of strawberry
coats the ceiling of my mouth,
swirls under my tongue.
Like scoffing
a miniature sponge, its insides
weld to every back tooth.
Once down my throat
I reach for the next softy.
Just one more.
Oct 28, 2013
Oct 28, 2013 at 1:40 PM UTC
The bag is half empty.
All evening, my right hand
swimming with cushions.
I pop in another
pink cylinder, squash the shell
with one bite.
A tinge of strawberry
coats the ceiling of my mouth,
swirls under my tongue.
Like scoffing
a miniature sponge, its insides
weld to every back tooth.
Once down my throat
I reach for the next softy.
Just one more.
Written: October 2013.
Explanation: A poem written in my own time for university - as such, please note that the layout and language may change considerably over the next few weeks.
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