"pastry" poems
a curved pastry
like a prune danish
in a sway
a weaving kiss
anointed by a melting stick of butter,
pushed and puddled
deep and slow
the shape of a heart
with a hole in the middle
ooow dark fig
stinking rose
a comfort that sweetens with the grace of form
and pops like a trigger releasing a bullet
i covet
with eyes like erections
pants sticky wet
hot glue factory
for you love, my *** angel
red skin girl gaping
with circular yearning set in motion
tarnished petal mix meister
sinful hot house
for quaking tongue and lips,
a wild cherry *** kisser
spiked ***** blushing
lord of ****
solar ******* hero
flexed and oiled
to the rescue
a god send
triumphant and blessed
looks like a fast cigarette boat
hitting the speed bumps hard
she said yes please
dip like
nautilus of the black sea
What?
no loitering
no parking
not a through street
haahaahaa
****
that
****
Aug 21, 2018
Aug 21, 2018 at 1:11 PM UTC
[Verse 1]
Monster sized swag; not modest bout my splendor
Marvel at the flag and I'm the ultimate avenger
Buck Rodgers, D-Bird yep I'm the number one contender,
So I gotta uphold this rep of bein uncontrollable
so I'll take the lead, I hold the world beneath my feet
I'm a fiend, elite
Haze so cloudy cause I be blowin Swisher Sweets
Drug addiction is my disease
It's my expertise
See here's the masterpiece:
Raps lobotomize
I'm traumatized since 1993
[Verse 2]
Victimized by the lies
of this trifilin enterprise
You can front but you can't hide
There's no fault behind your eyes
So I hope this insult will suffice
It should come as no surprise
A grin will spread across my face
From side to side
My ***** mouth will mesmerize
hypnotized, memorize
the words that escape my lips
I'm a degenerate unabridged uncut
You're a ************* ****
Go hang yourself from a bridge
Here's a rope, I hope you choke
******* ******* smoochie smoochie
Only chains you got is Gucci
Y’all basic brothers rep that set
But fake like that 2chi
[Verse 3]
man I get so high,
Now watch me get higher
Watch me take flight
As my wings soar skyward
You know I'ma fighter
So watch me take my place
As I eat this rap game up
and then spit it in your face
Now pass me a lighter
see me rollin while I bake
I mean I'm not a pastry maker,
but I still bake for the sake
My rhymes are so ill
They're gonna make you sick
I be tweetin on my twitter
While Betty Crocker ***** my **** uh
[Verse 4]
Reid between the lines son and please proceed with caution
Alien splittin kilos, I be one tweaked ****** martian
I'm five steps ahead and these haters ****** forfeit
You four feet tall and I'm so high I'm in ****** orbit
Make these snitches sleep with fishes
How ****** vicious spittin mischief
****** trippin out these hypocrites
Dishin out these disses which
Bein inconsiderate
in this fast paced game of chase
But if I wanted to catch your drama
I'd just go check my facebook page *****
Nov 11, 2013
Nov 11, 2013 at 3:30 AM UTC
Honey seeps off the tips of our sugar-dotted, pastry flaked fingers.
oh, your lips are
just
as
sweet
as
your soul.
Jul 2, 2014
Jul 2, 2014 at 9:07 AM UTC
Juicy, sweet, hot chocolate skin...black girls are black goddess
**** black girls For guys and men. The most beautiful, attractive, seductive, **** and exciting in African and African-American women is their sweet, juicy, chocolate skin color. Honey caramel mulattoes. Sweet brown chocolate color. And inviting, savoryly pure black-sugar skin color. This is the most delicious, beautiful, sweet candy in the world. You feel like a sweet tooth in a pastry shop when there are a lot of them around you. If you marry one of them and get her children from her, and live with only one of them all your life, and you will be faithful only to her alone. Your life will be the sweetest. Skin of black color and color of dark chocolate are the sweetest, seductive shades of sincere, hot passion. The skin of dark-skinned girls seems to be radiating the heat of *** burning sweet, sensual passion, this color of temptation, attraction. There are drums of ethnic, traditional music, it's the sound of *** . The black skin of a girl with which sweat and moisture is flowing, as if she still radiates ardent, hot, passionate, and a little stuffy *** in the sauna and her sweet moans are heard. This skin color is like a powerful aphrodisiac replacing ******
The skin of black and dark chocolate is the sweetest, seductive shades of sincere, hot passion.
The women of three races are beautiful: the sultry, torrid, hot chocolate of hot passion of the deep passion of black fire of love and *** a paradise oasis of tenderness of the east, and snow-white, sensual pearls.
For guys and men. The most beautiful, attractive, seductive, **** and exciting in African and African-American girls and women is their sweet, juicy, chocolate skin color. Honey caramel mulatto. Sweet brown chocolate color. And alluring, relish pure black sugar color of skin. This is the most delicious, beautiful, cute candy in the world. You feel like a sweet tooth in a candy store when there are a lot of them around you. If you marry one of them and get children from her, and you will live only with one of them all your life, and you will be faithful only to her. Your life will be the sweetest.
Your skin is the color of one hot, unforgettable night, your libido is the word lava in your hot body, burning passion, only your photos can excite me, only your beauty turns off my brains, you have a **** ****** tune in my head, you are like a hot bath after a hard of the day, like an ****** massage, like a soft pillow with sleeping softness.
Dark skin
The black skin of a girl with which sweat and moisture is flowing, as if she still radiates ardent, hot, passionate, and a little stuffy *** in the sauna and her sweet moans are heard. This skin color is like a powerful aphrodisiac replacing ******
The skin is black and the color of dark chocolate are the sweetest, seductive shades of sincere, hot passion.
Dark-skinned beauties are a deep passion of black fire - this is a hot safari, a wild savannah, an exotic havana.
My new love poem, i hope you will like it.
For my dear light brown girls
Captivating honey caramel is like a shining dawn, life with you is like a sweet ****** dream. Juicy sweet fabulous fantasy beautiful. From your sexuality, the glasses of the captured ****** force in your eyes are sweating, this is the amazing magic of charm concealed in them. You are my depraved temptation ***** temptation. The sweet temptation of a tenderly roaring passion is a breathtaking juicy caramel berry, sometimes pouring with a picturesque modulation, tender sensual shades of red sunset, incinerated with the burning heat of passion. From your hottest, sultry beauty, the brain seems to turn off and faint from your sweetest kisses.
Author: Musin Almat Zhumabekovich
Feb 18, 2019
Feb 18, 2019 at 12:56 AM UTC
word of your alleged affiliations reached me weeks after it was all said and done; she was now queen of your world and I became a mild sore in your side like I feared I would
I don't know why I'm surprised. I never amounted to much anyway. I often let my feet burn in the running bath water just to feel something besides a building wall of anxiety in my chest.
I often dreamt about you. also about her - that walking prayer with a Devil's torch. I could've handled my tears if it weren't for the coffee shop you two were admiring in my dreams. do you remember my favorite place?
a nightmare is a dream until it becomes your reality. sometimes when I wake in a cold sweat complete with tremors, the breeze still smells of expresso and pastry
Mar 4, 2015
Mar 4, 2015 at 9:58 PM UTC
I love everything about you. I love your smell, from the way your cologne and deodorant sticks to your freshly washed skin to the way your natural musk smells when you sweat through a hot summer night stuck to me. I love how your skin is always soft, it brushes up against my thighs and cheeks like a blanket of the highest quality. Your voice is deep, but comforting and I adore all the sounds your body makes, especially the little grunts and sighs. When you speak soft words in my ear, I just melt into soft butter and I even love the way your silly words tease me, even when I get upset. Your bone structure is manly, but in a way that your body wraps around mine ideally when we hug. The way your eyes sparkle in the sunshine is like fairy dust and I could get lost in your gaze forever.
Your hand fits into mine perfectly and your tongue twists perfectly with mine when our lips collide. The movement of your hips with mine is like a metronome to my heart. All you could do is sleep and eat and I would never get tired of watching you. If you were a colour, you would be your favourite, purple, because it represents devotion, pride, mystery, magic and nobility. If you were a smell, it would be freshly cut grass on an early summer morning. Most people would say love feels like a sunny summer day, but ours is like one of those spring days where the temperature is fit for flowy dresses, but the sky is filled with some dark clouds that pass in the evening and there is a slight warm wind breezing through everyone's hair. Every single evening when you tell me you love me over the phone my stomach flutters with butterflies. As an item, you would be my favourite comfy old sweater. I love every single imperfection on your skin and in your soul. If I were to describe hanging out and having fun with you, the closest thing I could compare it to is the first bite of a freshly baked warm cinnamon pastry. I used to hate the idea of life, but if we were to create a family I would actually want to grow old with you. If there exists a heaven, it would be us sharing a fresh lemonade and chuckling next to a lake where tiny birds chirp and eat the crumbs of the bread we baked together. If you were a drink, you would be high quality whiskey and lastly, if you were a person, you would be mine.
Aug 15, 2023
Aug 15, 2023 at 6:49 PM UTC
when i was young
ammi packed me lunch
one strawberry jam sandwich
cut neatly into squares
as i grew older
and my tummy much bigger
(along with my appetite)
one turned into two
two to three
and finally
for some unknown reason
there were no strawberry jam sandwiches
but ammi still packed me lunch
it was tuna or chicken
maybe tomato and cheese
sometimes a pastry
i wasn't hard to please
and it never occurred to me
that my strawberry sandwiches
were gone
till one completely random day
i'm sitting with my friends
taking the first bite of my sandwich
a burst of strawberry fills my mouth
sweet, rich with sugar
it tastes red, good bright red
my strawberry jam sandwich came back
and i was bombarded by my childhood
playing on the swings sandwich in hand
red coated crumbs dotting my shirt
running out of class as soon as the bell rings
to munch munch munch
on my strawberry sandwiches
strawberry jam was never my favourite filling
but it filled me with memories
so occasionlly
when i'm feeling nostalgic
i'll pick up a slice, butter it up
spread my gooey, red friend
and share a sandwich with ammi.
Aug 13, 2018
Aug 13, 2018 at 5:28 AM UTC
she likes to dance in cemeteries naked
warring little but jeweled ***** bells,
ankle bracelets
toe rings
bingles, bangles, piercings,
through ******* and nose
her tongue split
each side wiggling independently
she gives head on a head stone
her blow jobs
like two undulating mouths
her skin inked with
black and blood tattoos that say
*Satan's little ***** *****
double penetrations preferred porfavor
the more buttery big ***** and pastry puffy ******* the better*
she
all purple hair tinged red
and antler horned hat
with silver toe and finger nails
a crazy saint sane
adored by the popes of the lascivious
eyes wide open over a crimson mouth sneer
cherry pout lips
gods gift to ***** and vaginas
a temple of relief exalting
Eros
a **** it bucket list of lust
her heart
cotton candy in flames
****** like a river of smashed potatoes
in cream
she like
phases of a corpse moon
begs to be used after death
like pigment on canvas
smeared red globes and chiaroscuro
she playing dead
living it up
do you know her
she keeps her secret hidden
on her sleeve
while you keep yours
from yourself
*bless me father for I have sinned
and loved every minute of it
yet dare not be happy
for fear of Gods rage*
my soul saved
turned fertile earth to sand
and shrouding vistas of light
till the bed is the bed
of the living dead
so there's nothin left but work and sleep
and dreams of drunken **** madness are buried
under the weight
marked forbidden
black sun curse
hips sway in ashes
a forbidden dance
Feb 22, 2018
Feb 22, 2018 at 10:42 AM UTC
Cream puffs, cannoli’s and Saint Joseph’s pastries
I can’t decide which, cause they all look so tasty
Chocolate eclairs and Cheese Danish rings
These are a few of my favorite things
Creamy napoleons and crisp apple strudels
chocolate truffles, oh yes!, give me oodles!
Black and white cookies and chocolate ring dings
These are a few of my favorite things
Girls in the pastry shop stifle their laughter
they know that their cheesecake must be what I’m after
miniature pastries, boxed, tied up with string
These are a few of my favorite things
When my belt’s tight
When my pants split
When I'm feeling sad
I simply remember my favorite things
And then I don't feel so bad
Feb 25, 2013
Feb 25, 2013 at 7:39 PM UTC
I gotta say, you sure know how to pick 'em.
I know that by now, you realize that I'm the furthest thing from perfect but for some reason you still saw something in me that made you want to spend the rest of your life with me. And to that again I say, you sure know how to pick 'em.
There are few things i want you to know about me before you get too heavily involved. You see, I am a nurturer by nature. I am the caretaker to all and the kind heart that everyone turns to. So I apologize if some days I am lost under the weight of the world I put on my own shoulders by accepting the problems of those that asked and believe me, everybody asks. I'm sorry if this can crush me to the point where I disappear but all I ask is that you help me find my way back again. Because you are the lighthouse for my stormy mind.
Another thing is that I can ask too much. I can lose myself in the problems of my own design and the problems designed by others and sometimes I will fall apart and not know how to put the pieces back together again. So I'm sorry for asking too much but I hope that you will learn patience and knowing to pick up the pieces, but let me put them back together.
I am also one with what you'd call "flights of fancy." I may want to be a pastry chef one day and then a French teacher the other, I will go through weeks, and sometimes months, where I will be preoccupied with only one thing. Just know that no matter where my imagination takes me, where my interests may lead, I will always come home to you because being your wife is the one thing that I can never stop wanting to do.
I'm sure you've already noticed how passionate I can be when I care about something. I will scream, cry, and cheer with everything in my being for the things that I believe in. Please don't laugh too much when I start crying over the death of a character in a book series or start screaming at the tv because the people talking are just so stupid and wrong and they need to know that they're wrong so I'm going to tell them even though they can't hear me... Just let me be, but also know when to tell me that I'm just being crazy. Because I know that I'm crazy, sometimes I just need a second opinion.
On the topic of second opinions, oftentimes I value the words of others more than I value the words of myself. Know that with a few simple words you can even lift me up to the heavens or you can tear me down further than you ever knew was possible. My uncertainty in myself will always be a problem and so I apologize if I constantly ask if I did anything wrong or if I upset you because I'm terrified that someday I will and you will leave like all the rest. I just want you to hold me. Tell me you love me even if I don't believe you especially if I don't believe you.
Be the husband I hope you will be and I will be the wife that I know I can be. Because even if it's hard, even if you get sick of the sight of me, even if the words that I say bounces off of you like water on a hot surface, know that I mean every word of "I love you" and I meant what I said when I told you "I do."
Dec 28, 2014
Dec 28, 2014 at 11:01 PM UTC
A true story of a chance gathering of strangers in the back room of a Gelato Parlor *** restaurant, two years ago, in a little village near the bay, on a land surrounded by vineyards. Come visit.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Gelato Nation
There is a place,
location secret,
mine to keep,
mine with which
you to tease,
make you envious,
a back room 'office'
jealous guarded
by a barkeep,
whose chosen invites sweeps
you into a reality that is
what you will it to be.
But nota bene, note well,
remembrances of things swell
from your past be the
only tongue spoken here.
Code word entry only,
a shared whisper.
Perhaps One Woman,
may reveal its pleasures,
if she so chooses,
which are:
gelato laughs, poetry snaps,
Beatle songs sung ensemble,
by rag tag strangers
self-collected accidentally,
sung de rigeur off key
by voices lubricated by
cognac, laughter, and
the coldest of white wines,
issue of the very soil
upon which we sit.
Words to value properly,
not in my possess to capture
the few moments in time when;
Strangers transform themselves
into a triple A nation united,
that will never be
S&P; downgraded.
A holy alliance
celebrating July 4th
all night long,
all participants
signatory witnesses to
its gelato conception,
as well as pallbearers
to its last drink dissolution,
the fullness of its lifetime
a vintage of a few hours extant,
a vintage, once drunk, is
a history, forever gone.
Mixologists please record:
One playwright, a psychologist, bond trader and a social scientist
with a dash of museum director,
and do not forget the
Hundred Year Old Woman,
whose Dowager Princess Daughter
(she, a mere eighty)'
from Central Park West
clarifies all of life dilemmas with
the singular analytical tool of:
But is it good for the Jews?
**But t'is the barkeep
who is the leavening
in this evenings human
pastry-petrie dish.**
He makes the pastiche,
the ions of personalities,
coalesce best,
guitar strummer,
singer of songs that were our
multiple national anthems
when we were pseudo-rebels
starting out on our
long and winding roads.
Long the King of the Keep!
Long live the memory of our
Gelato Nation,
may it stay sweet in
our antique collection of
the best moments of
our intersecting lives.
July 2011
Jul 4, 2013
Jul 4, 2013 at 6:00 PM UTC
Windex mice squeak through the windows,
biting newspaper as it scrapes across.
Soap from a new age fills the kitchen,
sheeps' fat long forgotten,
the sod-house of Laura Ingalls Wilder left behind
with its crumbling Lincoln logs,
the ceiling that drops dirt crumbs like a gritty pastry.
Our world is shiny,
so blinding that even the cough of newsprint makes it brighter.
A bottle sneezes across the counter, spurts those
bubbles of ammonia, gathers with the
rivers and tides that surge with ethanol,
it bursts the air with a neon smell and erases
everything that has come before.
Feb 28, 2012
Feb 28, 2012 at 1:01 AM UTC
She walked barefoot in the desert and wore desert boots to bed.
My baby was topsy turvy dipsy swervy crossed up curvy clean out of her head.
A cast iron face that kept the truth bound and shackled.
Deep inside her head.
Self deception was her stock in trade and every choice she ever made was reasoned Wearing blinders.The snake that ate her tail
Her logic was.
Circular in nature no ending or beginning. Which guaranteed her winning
Regardless.
But only in her twisty wheelhouse.
Crazy as aa ********* rat.
Twisting facts into tasty pastry.
Seving them up on shiny ware.
Neither here nor either there
Calculating slipknot tension
Telling tales too tall to mention
The daughter of the pretzel maker
Part deluded.Rabid faker.
Pretzel logic
Pretzel minded.
Twisted now and twisted later.
Down the road I go.
Oct 17, 2013
Oct 17, 2013 at 12:52 AM UTC
strawberry flavored pancakes and milk
and her under the beige umbrella on the patio licking the red top off the maple syrup bottle
dinner never tasted so good
- Martha Grace Hsieh and Daniel J. Flore III
Mar 11, 2016
Mar 11, 2016 at 10:05 AM UTC
I want to split you in two,
tickle your cherry stem
& sprinkle you with sugar drops.
I've thought about marshmallow,
some vanilla cream
on top of your lemon tarts
& rolling my tongue
to spread it.
Honey dripped onto your flower
would be tastier than flaked-baklava,
a little whipped cream
& nuts would certainly
finish you off.
But I do dream of stuffing your pastry
with my creme-filled cannoli.
That would be the ultimate dessert,
don't you think sweet lady?
Jan 29, 2014
Jan 29, 2014 at 5:53 PM UTC
i thought i would try to make myself a pie
i got out my book to see what i could make
tried to find a recipe to see what i could bake
i saw a cheese and onion one that look very nice
i grated up the cheese the onion i did slice
then i felt a teardrop running down my eye
they were getting faster and i began to cry
i couldnt see a thing my eyes were very wet
the oven it was on and i began to sweat
i rolled out the pastry and put it on a tray
put it in the oven and watched it bake away
my tears they had gone they were nice and dry
i didnt know that when you cook it can make you cry.
Mar 20, 2010
Mar 20, 2010 at 6:44 AM UTC
My French Gem
The Rose tickler
finely handwritten
The movie part gave
her the sign life
crossed over gem
French kiss the morning
The burst of Kaleidoscope Sun
Double touched but forbidden
On the Cheetah necklace chase
The French Lieutenant
her body and lips moonstruck
On her chaise
To get over it another work of art
that got more attention
To revive her from drowning in
the gem scattered like a
benevolent
blue splat philanthropic
Looking more into his unknown
diving suit mixed
with envy green how she got mixed into
the stranger of Poison Ivy
Her love didn't show all her
attributes God spiritually well
She went to the pastry heart
how it flaked all
over like crystals
He was patiently sitting but got persuaded
That little gem of the lounge
Her firey gem was the canary
that got his tongue
Her gem stands taller
The crafted lines of quality in the
Pillars
"Le Bonheur De Vivre Gem-Art"
French kiss went inside the darker side of the painting
He's transformed.
Shape heart delicate uniform.
"Parisians on a mission
A kiss is a serious manner
LOVE" Gem birth opens her
He modifies her rainbow
Artwork of brush yellow
twinset platter hello fellow
the essence beloved to follow
So worth her wait being watched
By the crystal rock, he loved her
going up in spirit or she falls for him
The gem to be it
Magical modernly gem -fit clock.
See through hands meditation harp.
Lebonheur De Vivre fine art sharp.
Lips movement beyond hearts.
Le-bonheur De Vivre gem arts.
Artesian heels tapping boots.
Fall for Autumn love cahoots.
Beloved, divinely he's the healer.
The picture spoke she's the winner.
Wilderness he glides kisses prints.
Pushing her waves hints.
Everlasting one thought he's guessing?
Art never part beautify stem.
Eyes so genuine he's her gem.
Jul 9, 2018
Jul 9, 2018 at 9:26 AM UTC
Every Tuesday night
From January to April
The highlight of my night
Was a chocolate croissant.
I would sit and listen
To theories and methods,
Literature and research,
And on break I would have one.
I would order it each night
With salivating anticipation.
As I handed over my money
They put it in the oven.
And each night
They would call out
"Chocolate croissant?"
And I would grab the bag.
I would devour that morsel
With joy and elation,
And as I felt it go down
My chest would warm -
Not only from
The warm croissant,
But also from the joy
Warming my heart.
It was the best part
Of those horrible evenings
Of literature and research
Theory and methods.
Sometimes,
If I was feeling spicy,
I would get two -
One on each break...
And sometimes
On Thursdays
I would get two more
For History and PR.
Yes,
Those chocolate croissants
Got me through
My last semester of college.
When I was feeling stressed,
Or feeling down
From the subject matter,
I would eat one,
And I would feel better.
And I bet
As you are reading this
You want one.
Do yourself a favor,
Go buy yourself
A chocolate croissant -
And enjoy it.
Let it help you escape
From your worries
And your cares
For about 90 seconds
As you devour that
Delicious pastry.
And let it warm your chest
With chocolate and joy.
Apr 2, 2016
Apr 2, 2016 at 12:56 AM UTC
The Creator of
Edible love
Sent from above
Its the candy I love to make
Muffins, truffles, and cake
For the art is why I bake
Don't even try to lie
The sweets you can't defy
Espresso Brownies, pumpkin pie
With all certainty
I am so glad to be
A maker of pastry
Dec 11, 2014
Dec 11, 2014 at 10:19 PM UTC
i played Dolores Haze
sitting sideways on your lap
on your birthday
i felt kidnapped
by incessant language
i felt intrigued by genius.
i kissed the brunette above your lip
old fashioned mustached man.
pastry eyes i could've eaten for days.
my second gemini
was thin and frail
high on amphetamines
and drunk on ego
he weaved in and out of me
like a snake looking for peace.
he fidgeted nervously
after every ******
i gave him
(or he gave himself on top of me)
mercurial men
hell bent on
changing the world
with no aid beyond
the words in their mouths
Aug 28, 2013
Aug 28, 2013 at 9:49 PM UTC
I just tasted a memory. BANG . slapped me on the tongue like a freight train out of a rip in space and time,
of garlic and peppercorn chicken with jasmine rice , a clear broth and fresh cucumbers, a wedge of lime and chrysanthemum tea.
oh .. my mouth , how could you spring this on me .. when i'm so far from the motherland...
then they come thick and fast -
thai iced tea , thai iced coco , thai iced coffee , thai lime soda ..
papaya salad with sticky rice , Mango and coconut sticky rice , Roti with condensed milk and banana , coconut ice cream in a white bread bun with coconut sticky rice and peanuts, fresh fruits of rambutan and mangosteen for 30 baht a kilo......oh.....oh...who could forget the fried flat noodles , or the fried pastry's called explosion ***** oh... oh my
heart..... my heart...... my stomach... calls out to you , oh glorious green curry with roti , morning congee with little pork ***** and soy sauce..... come to me my dumpling and noodles let me lick the chillies and sugar off my lips , may i taste once more
the conception of such marvelous treats , unfathomable to the western palate , little sweet corn and flour discs cooked on a special cooker over a real fire...dried squid sold on the back of a bicycle , fried garlic with sticky rice , a pink soup !
I just had a taste memory
****
May 17, 2014
May 17, 2014 at 12:22 PM UTC
I bake.
When the answers slip my hand.
When I can't understand.
When I can't sit around.
When I am joyful or profound.
When I am renound.
I bake. I bake. I bake.
I cook.
When the world seems too scray.
When I can't sleep soundly.
When I can't speak loudly.
When I am sad or lonely.
When I am hungry.
I cook. I cook. I cook.
And when I don't know what I want there is always the recipe book.
Aug 19, 2010
Aug 19, 2010 at 3:27 PM UTC
my first step cracked the ground like phyllo pastry / alarms pierced through dense air that struggled to reach my lungs / massive acrid pills fell from the darkening sky / inching closer to me with every second / as if the world was demanding for me to swallow them / my body absorbed lightning faster than it could ever charge through the sky / my heart seized with every glance / so I kept my eyes downcast / settling on a strong smooth obsidian / that rested below the ground / tremors overtook my hands / and I leaped onto the stone.
Apr 2, 2022
Apr 2, 2022 at 11:14 AM UTC
Small things Remembered
The shop at the corner
Of my childhood
Has stopped selling Danish pastry
Nor has it Coco macrons,
Milk and cheese
The rooms are bare
On its counter cutting cheeses in smaller portion
An old fashion weight
Used when selling butter
Dusty windows
Forgotten, no one says: remember where
We bought our milk?
The bell that rang when opening it door
Will not chime anymore
Perhaps someone will buy it and make it
Into a wine-bar, it is the trend now
They are trying to make us into posh alcoholics,
And I have a sudden hunger for Danish pastry.
Oct 1, 2016
Oct 1, 2016 at 5:54 AM UTC