Sometimes you make it from scratch, with your hands
With whatever the fridge and coy cupboards
Offer up, by means no one understands
This is the improvisation, lovers
The conquest of hunger by our laughter
And the chopping and spicing of the dead
Last week, these leaves drank light like fresh water
What is minced here had dreams inside its head
Ours is a mundane, sweet necromancy
A ritual conceived to extract life
From former animation, not fancy
An interlude between boredom and strife
My favorite part is your greedy smile
We made this here, together, with some style
About the Creator
D. J. Reddall
I write because my time is limited and my imagination is not.
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