Who am I
If only a French kid
With a few scrapes and recipes
For brioche
And ratatouille
Reality slinks
Deep
Like a gulp of glass
Shattered,
I am only me
A cliché
Admitedly
Shirking
The ordinary
By the marshy sliver
Of my left brain
Sometimes absent
Of succulence
And/or.
No comments:
Post a Comment