Beauty
"Describe beauty," I tell myself.
Beauty is a waitress with a white shirt and black pants with a black apron, and in the pocket of that apron is a pink rose, or do I mean under the pocket of that apron?
Beauty is a pile of dirty black snow on which flutters a McDonald's bag with the "I'm" and "it" smudged with dirt so it just reads "Lovin." In that bag is a golden brown double cheeseburger that will surely make me sick if I eat it and eating it anyway.
Beauty is a vase full of fresh parsley, cascading green towards my kitchen table on which sits a glittery pipe packed full of fresh parsley.
"Okay, I'm done," I tell myself.
"No, you're not."
Beauty is a waitress with a white shirt and black pants with a black apron, and in the pocket of that apron is a pink rose, or do I mean under the pocket of that apron?
Beauty is a pile of dirty black snow on which flutters a McDonald's bag with the "I'm" and "it" smudged with dirt so it just reads "Lovin." In that bag is a golden brown double cheeseburger that will surely make me sick if I eat it and eating it anyway.
Beauty is a vase full of fresh parsley, cascading green towards my kitchen table on which sits a glittery pipe packed full of fresh parsley.
"Okay, I'm done," I tell myself.
"No, you're not."
posted by JMH | 5:47 PM
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