Crisp cornflakes,Old newspaper cuttings,
Thoughts at thirteen,
Musty bookshelves,
Unearthed at twenty,
Brown edges,
Wine turning sweet,
Round handwriting
Turns cursive
News at ten every night,
Different news every night,
Becomes history someday,
Plural smells of the same wind,
Sunlight changing hues,
tearing
calendar pages
the same tune, the same lyrics, the same singer,
an altered feeling,
transforms to be an oldie.
someday,
photographs will record decadence.
smells and fears mingling
have turned soggy in milk,
warm and sour.
3 comments:
i remember how you helped me finish the cornflakes in laos. they were crisp, dwn to the very last flake -ml
hello ml: ) when did we eat cornflakes? i dont remember, you know..
i suddenly remembered. novotel.
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