I am slicing pears in the kitchen
the sea is washing clouds between
uneven tides of time swallowing
stories air thick with smog and bullets
do all guns kill? for some reason
weeks are as cold as guns and
every week kills me

I am slicing pears in the kitchen
and thinking of days of youth
when we loved blindly
is love ever free? just blind
it always leads to love
all dead things do and to
the scars cartographed on the naked skin

but here I am
bruised with another week
rainbow seas cold waves
as cold as my bare feet and
I am slicing pears in the kitchen