Posted in Blog, Creative Writing, Writing

Chips

I feel like I’ve known you forever,

you fry me chips,

I sit on the counter,

even though you’ve told me not to,

my fingers pulsing against the plastic menus,

as I compose the drum beat from a song I’m going to write about you.

You lean over,

gloved hand on my glowing cheeks,

a kiss, on a background of sparkling, splashing oil,

and I lose my place,

but I’ve found the place where I belong.

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