fingertips, just the fingertips, to pick up the small hairs.
Yes, with lemon, and a bit of dill if you have it.
She wipes the crumbs into piles, licks her finger, presses, licks.
Horwell is at it again, can't get the swallows out of his head,
feeds them mosquito larvae, but they want the wings. Saw a web
full of wings yesterday, horrid things: spiders.
with lemon, and mayonnaise, keeps in the moisture, read somewhere:
cucumbers for baby-butt skin, mayonnaise for hair. Always
read the label: yellow dye #47, cheater's saffron, but good
for first impressions when meeting the next mother-in-law.
Fifteen tables, can you believe it? And she wants delphinium-blue
in August and probably thinks she'll get foot rubs every night too.
No, one cup's enough, more gives me those jumping dreams,
and I'm afraid one of these times, I just might do it.
Could Be Like This:
day, you notice
your favorite shirt is red, not blue.
The lampshades are covered with tiny
inverted pineapples, not paisley.
A recipe calls for cinnamon instead
of coriander. Your lover now has a slight
Irish brogue when he says, Good morning,
and leans his head to the left
when he kisses you. Someone knocks
and you eagerly open the door.