Marble Tiles

You’re trapped in a hoarder’s kitchen. That stench of year old sandwich bags filled with moldy crust and mayonnaise. You hear this daydreamer complain about endings she’s created. All because of false love.

Once upon a time, our fingers embraced. Now we use them to poke and poke. Our language shifts. It’s no longer, “I’m mad.” It’s, “You made me react.”

See, you broke the piece I glued. The vase no longer has any use. I won’t try again for the same outcome. You can. But if you don’t get what you expected, who’s really to blame?

These marble tiles were built for us to walk on. Not to admire. So look up. Solve this Rubik’s Cube, and tell me what I’m feeling this morning. Skim my skin as fast as you skim your articles.

Warm up milk and drizzle honey with a dash of turmeric. Taste it with your thoughts. Then, add lemon juice and watch it curdle. Drink it. Tell me how good it is. How lovely the texture is on your tongue.

Your worries will float with the dead goldfish I fed pepper. Your emotions…