sunday madness (the still connection of a humbled past)
the summer flattened during afternoons by rain
a faint smell of the asphalt rising
sip the avocado concoction
i add milk to elevate its flavour
my feet bruised, ironically, over its lack of use
sideways, the partaking of limbs
along with the fingers i feel only
a hinting ache from which a bedside conversation
might ensue
hanging flower petals storming underneath loose
fabric
lullabies i hope to hear but its pitch too high
ecnounters jolting volts in the hundreds
place your pink-haired head softly in the cushions
my shoulders try to imitate