Spiced with a pinch of Rabelais,
Mr Honk felt somewhat humanised—
despite his lack of a moral compass
and the residual heat in the bedding—
as long as there was an abundance
of a certain tincture and a cushion
of the seething mass.
More words to ponder at maciejmodzelewski.com
Does six miles on a bike count as a passing grade
in the arithmetic of cookies and pebbles,
or is it just plain old me trying to pretend
that it doesn’t matter how much my body can take,
as long as your smile covers the fundamentals
of cruelty—thanks to Niépce and the Lumière brothers
keeping alive the taste of cheap tinned peaches
served on peanut butter sandwiches for breakfast
with a cup of rooibos tea, already cold
and somewhat salty?
I always liked watching you undress,
but we never talked, and you would often laugh
at my sudden lack of confidence every time our eyes met.
Perhaps that was the problem, and now that all that’s left
easily fits under the crumpled sheet, it’s too late
to repeat the absent words, at least until I relearn the language
of picnics and mint chocolate—a rather meagre price
for indulgence.
hidden pilcrow 