My father always ate with the large fork.
that fork is discomforting for my small hands,
but it perfectly fits his rugged hands.

My mother and I always ate with the small forks.
Our hands were small, delicate.
But it perfectly fits our tender hands.

The utensils were always separated,
little cupboards and drawers,
although all the forks went to the same drawer.

As I set the table for tonight’s meal,
there was no small fork left for me.
Awkwardly, I ate in stillness with the large fork.
In this miniature, blank, dwelling.

Since covid paced in
Hunger lingers
In this skinny land
As many arms are folded
During a lockdown
Void of spoons going to the mouth
To further widen
The red sea between
The highs and lows of the land

this **** quarantine
is keeping me from getting
my daily dose of cuddles!!!!

She was the ****, I was the crystal
addicted to each other the moment
                                              we meet.

But every high has a come down,
                I'm the ***** needle..

She was the spoon, warming up on
               another's sleeve.

Tided tightly ready to overdose on her.

                     She was the chemical bliss
that could  be taken anywhere,  



                                         I thought...
that we were something special.

But I was used,
                      discarded.

I was useless to her, as I was unable
         to pierce the vein..

Used to many times.

So she found another way to find
              a way to make her self higher

than she was with me.

Now I'm in a come down

rehabilitated
                   and I'm struggling.

when his arms are wrapped around me
it seems like for once
everything will be okay.

Head of a silver spoon hanging in the sky
Reaching down into the midnight cloud bowl
Scooping up spiced stars scattered in a soup