all it’s allright

taking care of your little fingers i was flattered
i was even
honored as smashed potatoes scratched
in a smoothly sweet and sexy way, so hot erection from the pot,
by an onion silver fork.
it may be the weather
it may be that I bought a cd made of soul and guitar
it may be that
but I’m quite carefree today. Honored,
by your fingers.
I pass my eyes on them, I look at them, pinkie.
Like the red part of the egg
the empty space
in the net
the baritonal voice form a church in the middle Autumn
crazy crispy wind out side and
I’m just sitting and thinking,
I’m just far and freezing,
I’m just typing and dazing,
but I remember your feet fingers,
searching my hands
in those still evenings.

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