Hot biscuits steam the wilted
grapes in the colander, but the moldy zucchini
was gone when I got up this
morning. What happened as I watched
over flashes of stories and dream
bites? Fresh creamed butter moistens blue crockery
next to the sink, and the cloud of
fruit flies has migrated. Bitter
percolations
await sugar and milk. Lark song repeats through the sunshined
slats.
Quiet white ripples of laughter
beckon as two peaches glisten nearby. A
roach
scuttles across the linoleum.
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