deepundergroundpoetry.com
Breakfast
A tiny moth bounces,
around my kitchen light,
above my oven flame,
of the softest white.
It's captured in the steam,
from my cream of wheat,
wings twirling gently down,
slowly falling it would seem.
Dropping down into the boil,
of my silver aluminum pot,
a little added protein,
stirred in, forever caught.
around my kitchen light,
above my oven flame,
of the softest white.
It's captured in the steam,
from my cream of wheat,
wings twirling gently down,
slowly falling it would seem.
Dropping down into the boil,
of my silver aluminum pot,
a little added protein,
stirred in, forever caught.
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