she liked to cook up bizarre duos of
fried eggs and chocolate drops
gyro meat and sweetened condensed milk
crème brûlée and turkey gravy
and if he ever pushed away his plate
if he ever grimaced at her newest creation
she didn't see it
she didn't have to-the light in his eyes
said plenty as he picked up his fork
again and again
he loved the magic
of her impossibilities fracturing
and reconvening once more
in a bubbling mess of
beef stew and lingonberry jam.
the best of us thrives
in the strangest contradictions
of our person.
YOU ARE READING
little blue flowers
PoetryA collection of original poetry by Ella Petrichor. Highest Rank: #152 in Poetry (6/14/18) **COMPLETED** ::Excerpt:: "betrayal along the seams" A melancholic pallor lining her face She stood in the doorway Beating the shit out of that old rug As thou...
