god-diva // poetry

I

Her sprinkle of toes
pivots upon—

I like the kitchen.

—its stone cold memorable floors;

that slaps against my thighs
as I slid down;
same as my constant cries.

My knees poke
my damp cheeks—

I like the kitchen.

—the thoughts
are dark and sweet;
cold even.

I made cookies for the first time;
In this kitchen that I like.

Delectable chocolate confections
Resting upon that stove,
But they're salty
As my tongue licks the Chocolate droplets.

I like this kitchen.

Because I remember
A silly banter of flour snowfalls
Magnetizing close waists and soft skidding kisses
Bathing in sighing moans humming through our veins
With lolling rolled necks covered by manes of hair
To come—

Begging

—alive again.

Quaking jiggles,

From pancakes made
On happy days.

My cramping chest inflated
Then narrowly deflated
By the breaths—

I like this kitchen.

—of heavens squealing mirths.

I like this kitchen.

It use to remind me of her.

Excuse me now being in lonesome -
I quite like it.

Like I abore this kitchen.

                            .not-everything-is-subtle