Disintegration of the lilac's Fun Clutch mode
in the Dark universe of the automobile that hides
naked months to continue fighting for the death
of the insecure James' Three Shoes Buzz tired
hand knife touched the tree and finally comfort
the bull; bull-drowned victims of
Dancer's CT mistakes that called
the fear waste turned to see people take comfort
redirect anger live rhythm calm blur just to that
thread is screaming bright beautiful mother that
veins of Nepalese night soft rain bath stuffed
alter means beautiful shame float spirit of love's
design, to despite the feeling of hanging from the sky;
flower plant laugh human task of evil easier once broken and killed
apart from the problems of the anxiety of students,
the sound, the swing, enjoy the water,                                   point of walking;
ugly loves saves changes to raise a friend;                                              friend
of the care of the iris, red,                                          the rain was a good year
for Rome, Kuar, you cannot see his back.                                          It is clear
that it cannot be separated.                                                        Honey, Honey,
I won the sun in the afternoon as Wings!
Travel Mitt Mitt Mitt Mitt Mitt Mitt Mitt
Mitt Mitt Mitt Mitt Square handle,                                                       Jan Hey
Hey Hey Hey Hey Hey!                                                    Tidiouxou­xoule will
wander in a different point Down rolling love
Ugly bridesmaid and changing the times
of the bride. Rainbow's red rain,                                                  a good dream
broke your ears.                                                       You cannot see your back.
It is clear that it cannot be separated.
wall honey in the afternoon sun I Love Wings
Travel Mitt Mitt Mitt Mitt Mitt Mitt Mitt Mitt
Mitt Mitt Mitt Mitt Square handle, Hey, Hey,
Hey, Hey Hey Hey Hey, Tidiouxouxoule,    January
will win different times in the rough water
Russell hitting more and more ugly brake powder
dust weaken periods chest fragile anger work
at peace best display dance core fire close to deep
neck problems small difference intellectual lovers
bright love hanging sleep tread sleep thoughts
prayed role change to write warmth knee response
a rain of ideas sometimes happy eyebrows waiting
silk cheek wall type light heart girl moon feel easy
advance disorder turf lawn oath is worth k night
the nature of the new patience of the sea prays
constantly in operation to control the teeth
of nature at first loaves edge,  fish galaxy g
is to press clearly                                                          ­To realize a bluish card bathed soft ears'r all fight,                                run, prepare for the pink wind,
planet, wave, milk, art, silver, ear;                                        ear, compression, thick;                                                           ­                                               thick
brown by the sand,                                                 must touch the autumn sky,
                                            climb, roll lungs; lung, faith, drawing, lips, softly
sacrifice the seasons,                        banks cover the beating of the soft heart.

I'M MAKING nachos in your toaster oven. The chips fall in the pan without a problem. Beans, evenly distributed (if I do say so myself.) Salsa- good to go. Then the cheese. Generic brand shredded cheese blend. I dangle my (washed) fingers into the zip-lock bag, grab a generous pinch and rain mild cheddar down on my gourmet meal. And I feel the tears building. "No," my conscious scolds, "you will not cry over shredded cheese." I add another pinch for flavor, then another to assert dominance. I slide the pan into the tiny oven- triumphant! But the next task breaks me. I freeze when I try to adjust the heat setting. I hear your voice so clearly, like you're still calling from the next room: "you have to press the TOAST button, it cooks much faster."  The tears start to roll. I think about how excited you were when cheese bubbled perfectly- "just a little brown, ever so slightly crispy." We would joke about your persnickety preferences, likely a product of your superior taste. Of course, you would have appreciated anything I made for you, but it was always better when the dish matched the idea in your head...when I made it like you would have made it (if you were only well enough to cook for yourself again.) In the present, I poke the TOAST button and flee the kitchen as to not cry in front of the smothered chips. I sit on the sofa and break down, gasping in childish sobs. "I miss her," I wail to an empty house. Warm tears coat my cheeks in the air-conditioned room. I feel so small. I feel so foolish for crying over stupid, little things. I feel so... so... A bell dings in the kitchen. I wipe my sleeve across my face and traipse back to the toaster. Hand into oven mitt, mitt onto pan, pan onto table. I grab the plastic tubs of sour cream and guacamole from the fridge and a spoon from the drawer that sticks a little when you try to open it. I pick the non-wilted bits off the head of lettuce and rinse them under the faucet. I finish the recipe. I pull out a chair. I sit down to nachos for one.