I saw stains on your dad's shirt

Yellow orbs appear
Surfacing the camera lens
You still capture the moment

Despite the flaw,
It's pinned to your board.

The thin rows of stitching
Woven together by Chinese machinery
Caging knuckles, scraped

"It's like honey, but it's bitter, not sweet."
A statement formed between
Trembles, yet you still reach to clean the glass

I recognize it from my window at night
Maybe it's dinner that's the most important meal of the day
A stab into greens as I hear a screechlike laughter

Twice.

Eyelids, flickering, alike baby birds
I wonder if they learn to collapse.

The light peeking through wooden shutters
Prevailed, brown stained white tank tops
The bitter-not-sweet is not just in his hand.

Shame, didn't you have it?
The even more bitter substance, fell upon you
Slipping down the ridges of your portrait

But alas, my anticipated response,
"I wouldn't recall seeing it."