small fry, in YOUR EYE
Deep breath, order messed,
oil sizzling away on the nearby pan,
blunt knife making weak cuts
through the onion. Slice after silver
slice; ethylene guess. And I think of
you.
Dancing about like I'm on fire,
like oil about a pan. This desire
to know if you think about
me.
But I'm unknowing; just knowing
I think about you all the time -
do you ever think about
me? I don't want to gas - gas if you think about
me.
Eyes tear, but it's not you - I tell myself
it's just the onions, tearing me up.
No, it's you. It's you
tearing me up.
Like scrambled eggs, my heart lies
torn.
*
xxfal
