SALTY soup boils on our gas-fired stove, a hock of pork a
SLOOP on a broiling potato sea. The kitchen’s face is
STEAMing. My sweating mother sees me, stops me,
TRUSSes my arms to my side: “I know your taste buds’re itchin.’”
ludic verbosity for the win
SALTY soup boils on our gas-fired stove, a hock of pork a
SLOOP on a broiling potato sea. The kitchen’s face is
STEAMing. My sweating mother sees me, stops me,
TRUSSes my arms to my side: “I know your taste buds’re itchin.’”