I’m not going to forget that you forgot
what I didn’t forget to tell you
when you forgot to tell me
what I didn’t forget

Oh my memory!


It’s just too hard,
to ignore the sound of the microwave
heating spaghetti
when you speak of jeans
That look like shorts
and shorts
That look like skirts
in skinny legs
that walk in runaways.

I know,

if you stand in front of me
my stomach
rumbles like a motor
asking for gas
before traveling into the roads of love,
but if you stand
a feet afar from where I am,
you can see my heart
scrolling windows down
for your hands
to deliver me some food.

yeah, yeah…

You said it before
“you are not a fast food restaurant.”

though, I prefer homemade.

Everything is made with love-

like you…


can you hear that?

the microwave
heated our conversation
into pasta.

Let’s eat it up.

Written by: L.L

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