Foggy of Manhattan June Instructions

a little bit of Salt

applied

to the sandwich olive oil is the fly

paper of contentment.

This is what term “pinch” means.

Sardines, too, served calabrese Style

might be tucked neatly in tins. With not many splices.

    wow!

Four spines! Oh wow!

But why do they crumble? counters might Now be dirty.

Fuckery stews in the slow cooker. Pulled at ends,

becomes

barbecued. Add

little bit of apple of my

eye.

and fold with cumin. tomatoes too.

Benches have this.

bleached out in plain.

It is nothing quite like the First Wear of

a freshly starch

ed shirt.

Creases instead of Wrinkles delight. In the battle between them.

Tenderness wins. Glory. Ignobility.

Mozzarella folds out of excite.

And the taste. Whipped. light.

Under lamplight now. Wore a hat

Through it . all

Listen to piano. Undone buttons come out stomach.

Sweet pleasure. Thick with thought.

Give that breath.

Headache gone. Sweaty undoes it. 

Cinnamon is the burn akin to tax, payed. smoky toll.

Regret Nothing.

Silver. Money 

smells like the last pure thing. Last to come.

Clutching bag which is pearls and

in the elevator,

Love is away. Not yet alive.

On opposite cables going down. Passing for sleep.

Charge footsteps

twenty pounds or three while

salted tuna measures out to me.

Now,

Press with heat. Sour smell like wood and paint.

Take with lemon. Have.