From the verses of Shakespeare to the violence of Football, a soft hand on the nape of my neck to a rim's hard rattle after a dunk, the mute of Miles to the rhymes of Rakim, Hershey's chocolate to a garlic peppered, cedar-planked salmon, Joel Dias-Porter's thoughts scatter like grains of black sand across a wind-blown beach.
Sunday, February 08, 2009
Good Morning
If you were Frosted Flakes I would spoon you slowly until the bowl contained only your milky sweetness, then tip the rim and sip one small swallow at a time. Then dart my tongue into the curved hollow of your bowl.
1 comment:
daaaaaammmmnnnn...awesome ;)
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