/ oh boy /

morning aroma escapes
from ingredients screened and studied.
from trapped loaf in the humming whir
to the swell piece of toast on your breakfast plate
I know your imaginary crust
to the pillowy centre.

periodic haircut sways
with instruments timid and sharp
from hair of your own skin to
thorns and thistles at the nape of your neck
I know your honest bolt
to the liberating prunes

faithful library haul
fquest or knowledge in the midst of the garden
from fresh Kleenex bookmark at your fingertips
to the forbidden tree by the river
I know your crumpled white flag
to the snuggly blankets

sleepy diminutive ladle
cradles highspeed rails of millions desires
from tickling ears to
back scratching in the valley of the night.
I know your signal and noise
to the untangling spine

for more to be seek from behind
where I can taste the sweetness of your skin
Thick and wild and hidden
Is the sweetness there that grows
capricious

tickling of ears
trinklet to sensitive nerve endings
secret handshakes

soft flags
secret handshakes
commecement resumed
you always know when to close a loop/ pause
allow space to come back

on your breakfast plate
warm and nourishing
I will wait
from the soft centre to the crunchy edge

you should love it too.
but I slack on precisely weighing what actively goes in.
it could be lack of patience, yes, defiantly a short coming
but as for myself, so much thrills for surprising results,
as long as I knew what’s in it, anything feels safe to eat.
result doesn’t matter, I love how safety taste.

shall I comment on the unreliable outside the walls.

do not push
do not rush
imaginary crust hold the soft

perfect buttery toast
attack and renounce
crunchy buttery toast
munch and chomp
warmy soft middle
attack and renounce
imaginary crust
general jail break
of the daily bread



let’s craft out the edge as morning art
a tribute to the imaginary boundary that made the square!

the rindless edge still gave them shape
and only to remains on the breakfast plate
oh sweet perfect piece of daily bread!
pithy and rind

should I have trimmed down the crust tighter at where it curved,
or should I have bluntly went deeper to pursue the four corners?
there will always be the anticipated hard edges.
there will always be the buttery soft centre



kleenex bookmarks stuffed between pages
tiny needle hair wiggles at bi-monthly fresh cut
alone with itches to be reached and seek
together there is always more to be seek at you back9 where you drift away

/
fresh boundaries to be readjusted
possess progress in disguise of spontaneous trashes
reset and neaten for sway and grow

itches in ears to be tackled and reached
desires and goals so personal im curious to know

and for more to be seek from behind
where I can taste the sweetness of your skin

Where I could taste the sweetness on his skin

Thick and wild and hidden
Is the sweetness there that grows

I watch him, he’ll need it.
I watch him, he is done
let there be a story
dwindle the shadows have come back