Popcorn

Where light touches you 

I see every little crack in your lips, 

and every tiny hair on the side of your face 

I see every single cell of skin, 

addressed to everyone i call my friend

I am from coffee beans,  

from bitter brews and cracked porcelain mugs.  

I am from the steamed soy eggs,  

the scent that clings to mornings  

like an old, Chinese dwelling.

There’s a Snapple on the general store roof.

There’s been one there for quite a while. About three years.

Must be nasty by now.