Melancholy is muted, savoury today and soft textured, silky soup and no mastication necessary for tired throat
A strip of tension my forehead recognises as the sand remembers footprints awhile
Tracing whispers to fears and uncertainties does little to loosen the screws but rationale is oil slick and lemon rind, acidic onion and ginger heat
Delicious - when you're in the mood
And my stomach is lead heavy with poisoned morsels I feed myself to dampen the hunger pangs, no nutrition just teeth chasing satisfaction, sensory reaction to crunch and chew and swallow
My sinking does not undulate with peristaltic push and pull of muscle, it's quicksand drowning on dry land and suffocation burial in unmarked ground
Yet unabrasive
White bread islands with butter pooling atop red warning, red warming, red hot, ready or not
I think I'll go to bed hungry