Jessy Assy

Bonelessly plummeting softly -

flaccidly phallic;

frugally saving up little tidbits of gravity,

to finally stand

defiantly tall,

drifting about

freshly cut grass

shaped by emaciated figures 

and droplets of melted ice-cream.

Ticklish memories

dismissed to their theatrically suffocating little death

amidst gray-green exhaust pipes,

golden smog,

magenta winds,

and digestible trucks

that enter one way,

and never leave the other. 

Like Roquefort cheese or Escargot

resilient in the belief that the aftermath-pleasure 

will outweigh the fleeting bitterness;

because fragile butterflies 

tease a smile 

but cold feet 

long

for times when things were once warm;

in the days where that grocery list

rampantly hung on the fridge door 

proudly flaunted doodles 

with scribbled notes

reminding mum and dad 

to pick up Richard from self-defense

and little Lilly from Ballet.