To whip up a froth I open Windows, pour myself
a coffee, and listen to jazz on the player.
A little spice more. Her bra hangs on the door,
all lace and silk. Super realism catches in my throat
– it is a Monk turn of phrase, the same old 88
but sung so many ways! We have tongues and talk
in 26 character clusters, rhythm section
from our hearts to the roof of our mouth.
Love and life and death – themes of our daily bread.
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