Broth to Boil

Here’s my draft for today, Saturday 05.04.19.

Broth to Boil

No. I would never sell you, hawk you, proffer
your steamy wares on the seamy streets of Chinatown
in a braising rain like this on such a stewing evening
never peddle your pots or saucepans of stir-fry and desire
sweet syrup splashes of maybe honey and ginger, crushed
garlic to taste you sizzling, a house specialty tossed in fire

No. Any pitch of mind would go unsung to the hordes
who would shop you, bargain me, dream you home
in the crumpled reusable bags they bear, seek
to fill with magical ingredients they purchase
in hopes of fortuning up high fantasy feasts of you

No. You are not up for sale, not tonight, never
neither are you up for barter as I would absolutely
take nothing in exchange for your deserts
cart no auction to the highest bedder
their crazed bidding action singing to a frenzied
level in shark-tooth anticipation of a chow down
fit for a king come on to crown with you

No. You’re mine, I’ve heard somewhere
and though the balance may sit heavy
on the side of hate in this love relationship
you are only everything I have, and your ears
are not burning at this moment because
I am not talking about you when I suddenly
see you just now, astonished at your apparition
out this bar window on Hotel Street, running
here against a sizzling red light in the neon rain
becoming me that change I want to see



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