Breadcrumbs for Breakfast

My hands form with multigrain   
your many faces,
it’s lips rehearse the things you say.

An egg fries 
below, 
the burner procrastinates it's task and 
the past 
will repeat itself 
turn it 
        down
turn it       
                     down
                                    .
                                        .      
….

Your eyes
light with Neptune
absolved in blue,
they lead to nowhere…
Yet
were they two fruits
ripe with juice
I would eat them.
Perhaps then they would speak their truths.
Tossed back and forth 
in my mouth syllables burst 
as my teeth tear into rind
but where ripeness resides,
must hide.

Suckling tongue
I pray for sweetness to confide 
my lips puckered,
where your kisses remain
if only I'd let the sun do it’s job
but sometimes
you just can’t wait. 
More from Miranda Kyle
Trending Posts
Boygenius’ Friendship Trap
Like Dominoes – Why Crypto Exchanges are Failing
Ari Aster's Families On The Fritz
Featured Music
NOW PLAYING
Playing Next
Explore Music