In the Kitchen

I don’t understand why you chip away. Are you life and I’m the edge of an old brown drip glaze dinner plate? This role of dishwasher wear and tear you’re ceaselessly spinning: It erodes me. It anything but drips me dry. Or is it that I’m creamy onion dip and a Lay is all you are? Cracked up to get together, I’ll see you at the bar. Please tell me, Love, before you eat me. In advance of my shattering, ere my slivers mangling your motor, your warm, soapy water flooding over my glossy skin, this lemon-fresh...

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