Quenata

Do onions and cloves, scare you to blink, who will want your clothes, will parents serve the pasta, is this what they think, a home and child disaster. does your husband moan, drink more drink, bellow Basta down the phone, a warm place forever, not like his bedroom’s pink, or when you're past it, who hasn't felt the drone, of the river’s slink, the ocean in your thoughts, flickering beside your moans, inside you a link, what happens to the soul, when it doesn't sing. even struggle sedated the trouble you create, a drunk without jokes, crying on the pavement, lost to your ghosts, in a red lipstick fragrance, your bottle is a freighter, by sun, moon, your breath, it will bring no ruin, stay close to your friends, including the kitchen sink, houses bought under Kennedy, moving like you wouldn't mind, a sense of ease