Friday Night, the stillness, the madnessUnder the purplish skyWear a pink blouse, come to a deserted gardenFireflies might come but you should not expect itFocus on cooking a good mealWash and dry all peachesEvery peach is a mazeTrim and thinly slice water liliesSeparating whites from greensThen thinly slice tangerineA tangerine is as tender as your heartMix it with chiseled snowCut a tomato into 1/2 inch dicesLonger than your penis you would sayFlank tomato dices with pretty AzaleasStir, stir, stirUntil fragmented, fragile and fragrantHeat a drizzle of oilExtracting from the dessert during the sunrisePour the trails of clouds sinking to the edgeOf the western hillsAnd the silence gathered from the frog pondWait for 1 minuteOr wait for the incense to burn, or roll the diceAdd a splash of rain from last nightWhen you were drenched, walked alone in the tunnelThe tunnel that keeps getting longerToo long to peel a peachFinally, drain everythingLike the world drains your brainSeason with morning dew and moonlightThe meal is readyEnjoy it as if you made of airAnd the night made of glass
Photo by Quinton Coetzee on Unsplash