20 minute mustache

I always mistook my face for less sinister. I have only one secret and in 40 seconds that number will become less than three. When I wash dishes first, I fill up the largest bowl with warm water, soap, and silverware in the sink. Notice the rule of nonrecollection. It is paramount to the myth of the sink. On 5th Avenue my dog is under the kitchen table and Shana’s oranges are remembered to the wall, waiting to drip kindly on the floor. Only the fact of what I was thinking there can separate me. Less than a decade but what the sink said was years. Can someone please pass me the Technicolor? The dyad singulared and the space was an honesty. Having lived through the funnel both ways. Little intuition calls the scene.



Look at me, playtime. Listen up. It’s cold in here and I’ve got heavenly. My windmill arms are a wish. You can touch me. You cannot go any further than this. I cannot hold you do not trust me. You can go any further than this. We left the oven on much more in that kitchen. Your hair breaks in and I am lovingly. Go little grass, burn back. Go little ween, kiss kiss.