It has no business here!
That salty ochre, pallet-chorus,
Clear plastic red dotted sachet!
Your lust for condiments freaks me out,
Buddha-girl, eat your meal.
Time won't run out so quickly
Nor your intelligence nor your zeal.
Pursed lips slurp a bowl of noodles,
I think of your warm hands
And banks of rivers, and cigarette quivers
Ashes falling to black sand.
Happy as a clam in an oyster's shell
Life is one fell swoop.
Give me the keys, you doe-eyed girl,
For time is wonton soup.
Apr 21, 2017
Apr 21, 2017 at 5:39 PM UTC
It has no business here!
That salty ochre, pallet-chorus,
Clear plastic red dotted sachet!
Your lust for condiments freaks me out,
Buddha-girl, eat your meal.
Time won't run out so quickly
Nor your intelligence nor your zeal.
Pursed lips slurp a bowl of noodles,
I think of your warm hands
And banks of rivers, and cigarette quivers
Ashes falling to black sand.
Happy as a clam in an oyster's shell
Life is one fell swoop.
Give me the keys, you doe-eyed girl,
For time is wonton soup.
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