Maybe,
like steak,
it needs to marinate.
Maybe,
like soup,
it needs to simmer.
Or, maybe,
it’s like watermelon:
the one food everyone else raves about,
but I can never get into
so I leave it alone.
Maybe,
like steak,
it needs to marinate.
Maybe,
like soup,
it needs to simmer.
Or, maybe,
it’s like watermelon:
the one food everyone else raves about,
but I can never get into
so I leave it alone.
The ocean is swallowing the sun.
Love is an abstract painting:
Colors convey a feeling but not an idea
the frame barely holds it together and the lines
trail outward, repeat, and redouble
Light is lobbed to the leaves and they cradle it
In the evening they throw it back to the sun
whose tendrils collect it
then go home
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