My smile is my dressing
coating the surface a creamy
red, spreading over a lettuce
bed. But it all pours from
a bottle. I’m a chopped onion,
protruding as the bunion on my
foot/hacked as a computer by
an adroit crook. The saddest
women smile as if their eyes
were cherries. But inside the rounded
glossy fruit lies a stone. And once all
the flesh is consumed the stone is spitted out
like stream from a whale’s spout.
Jul 6, 2021
Jul 6, 2021 at 7:32 AM UTC
My smile is my dressing
coating the surface a creamy
red, spreading over a lettuce
bed. But it all pours from
a bottle. I’m a chopped onion,
protruding as the bunion on my
foot/hacked as a computer by
an adroit crook. The saddest
women smile as if their eyes
were cherries. But inside the rounded
glossy fruit lies a stone. And once all
the flesh is consumed the stone is spitted out
like stream from a whale’s spout.
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