Haiku

Petrichor

The maze of language.
Discovering a new word,
Always a delight.
 
Food as the new stage?

Sharp, thick, sensual,
Flowing molten from the bread:
The grilled cheese awaits.
 
Not the opposite,
nor is it the complement -
a thing all its own.
________________________

The marks of my teeth
left in the chocolate bar
are scars of love bites.
 
"Punk Rock Girl" was wrong.
Iced tea: not so bad, really
On a broiling day.
 
Ancient enemies:
French silk for British? Germans?
Something domestic?
 
Shirt sticks to your back
Rising from a sodden couch.
Is anything worse?
 
"Ass like a bookshelf!"
The party runs late. Time to
Liquor on that shelf.
 
they wash words with paint
burying bright ideas
beneath false colours
 
we whitewash rainbows
in the name of purity...
we should all be chaste
 
Endless hues emerge.
Lines between them blur perforce.
In-betweens matter.
 
between black and white
a myriad of dull grey
in a colourscape
 
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