vid

The sunlight washing down
Amber glistens in my blind eye
My hands sinuously
Wrap around any facts
They can glean.

I am only ravenously hungry
For dinners that are well served
I am no desperate Saharan
Willing to feed on any mirage
I can sink my fangs into.

I know.

Fiction

There’s something I need to tell you...
I promise I’ll be beating around the bush,
So when can I see you for pi seconds square?

The small layered rounds of dough grow golden
When fried in the oil and fished out with perforated ladles
So they can be dropped into thick syrup and then bathed
in viscous milk laced with slivered almonds.

Go talk to your pies squared, why bother with me?
I’m jealous of every pie that catches your eye
I hate you and your attention that I vie for.
The cows are coming home raking the dust
As they voluptuously and curvaceously undulate
Over those delicate legs and enormous hooves,
Smelling of many ideas: revered and rich.

All things that taste so sinful on the tongue
Must be savoured in appropriate settings
Go down the road past the mounds of dung
Turn around full circle and come back.