-
Get Published on Female First
You
spread your soft butter
smooth, from the blade,
over the rough of the
lightly burned bread.
Shining, glistening, teasing
in the morning.
Until, at last, you see his
heart explode
in a partly filled jar
of strawberry jam.
Unable to see through
the glass covered
globules of sweetened despair;
an abortion.
Still life,
to you.
Tagged in jim barrass