Pastry Cortical Pantry

Well, who’s name rang from my lips
working the filo dough in the pantry

Who’s softness I pressed into upon
her hips

White laid the powder on the cold marble

Her forearms churned and folded
what would be burning
with goat cheese and caramelized onions
there in the air with kisses
to the neck
before fornication arrived with a bucket

We drank champagne that day
after we ate
made love
and our gonads swelled like flowers
while gas burners burned on the stove
and the radiator burned on the wall in the bedroom

But it was my afternoons in Mexico
when I was young
that made me know how to live all of this
so I am still living
even when like a typical adult
I am really not living

but peering into some process that devalues
the logic of value

the greatest gift of the scientist or poet
is to disrupt the systems of value

others can learn how to live liberated


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