San Francisco Love

Gazing into sunshine.

Feeling the heat of
enormity
trusting the labor of
flies
butter (flies)
gargantuan
odor
of flavor/labor
magnificently
flavored
with
butter
margarine
flour
+
sugar
salt
lava
volcanic
ash
vegetarian ash, please…
if you don’t mind.

But
even
better (than butter)
is
the
anticipation
of
flowers you can
eat
honey you
can
suckle
nature you can
tweak
to your
own
inner
coordinates
compass points
pearls dropped from a
necklace string
I digress.

It’s all heavenly material,
the
weight,
atomic
number
107
the heat
that melts
the
butter in my mouth
+ saves me
from wasting another
bottle of half-drunk wine.

I’m staying in San Fran
at the Isadora Duncan hotel
on Geary and Taylor Street
I love you if that’s what is written down.

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