three years- count 'em-
it was papaya and pasta. 'vegetarian' fried rice with ikan bilis in it. an assignment that i failed. my room is above the kitchen, and sometimes i smell meat and curry and i still think, i still think,
of the kitchen that isn't mine. of utensils under the stove. of fingers butter-yellow and dappled with flour. three years- the sink still drips, drips, drips, i still shuck garlic with unskilled fingers,
three years, and you still smell like home
Jun 1, 2015
Jun 1, 2015 at 12:42 AM UTC
three years- count 'em-
it was papaya and pasta. 'vegetarian' fried rice with ikan bilis in it. an assignment that i failed. my room is above the kitchen, and sometimes i smell meat and curry and i still think, i still think,
of the kitchen that isn't mine. of utensils under the stove. of fingers butter-yellow and dappled with flour. three years- the sink still drips, drips, drips, i still shuck garlic with unskilled fingers,
three years, and you still smell like home
Request permission to use this poem