Still Life

It is 9:12
In the evening, and
The cat purrs
Velvetly.

The kettle teapot humming
Smoke On The Water, and
That philosophical passage
About breast sizes and global warming
I read earlier today from
Cosmopolitan’s December issue.

The apple being
In an open relationship with my throat
And several pieces
Of fine cutlery.

Beauteous affections
Crammed in textbooks
Like bloated worms
In a diamond sea.

I love
Your trainwrecks
And
Your quirky feet.
I love how they shuffle.

— A. P.

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