| clayboy | ||
| laurah |
every day for seventy-four days. styrofoam cup, wooden splinter-spoon a cold sweet cloud, light, getting progressively softer, number, wetter on the way down. A little red fish, hiding frozen at the bottom to greet me after i drain the last of the colored sugar-water down my throat. It sits in my mouth for the next few minutes until it's thawed and chewy. Fall is nice but leaves don't make that ice-grinding sound. Spring is great but green syrupy flakes beat wet green leaves. Winter is fine but snow doesn't taste like coconut. |
050828 |
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| afrika | gobbles you(r words) up | 050828 |