a gasp for air
a silent dialogue
a swim that grew desperate
like wakefulness punctuated by sleep
tumultuous echoes brimming beneath the surface of orderly calm
the row of milk bottles,
orderly lines of candy biscuits,
candy
biscuits
and the empty space of guilt
a heaviness swept to a side,
the quiet altar of shame,
three lone spirals of skinny smoke
what i particularly enjoy about baking bread:
the inexplicable comfort from kneading the dough,
the softness a family member to something deep within our bodies,
and that somehow i do not remember
anything i've bought being as soft nor fluffy
warm from the oven, warm to my soul
do not be weak and succumb to your mind
hail doublethink
i finish a litre of milk every one to two days