This poem is written with Atlas — a great experience for creative writing (Atlas Substack).
At the corner shop, you whassup the security guard, who smiles, remembering your routine sweet cravings. Peanut butter cups or Tangfastics this time?
One raw bird-eye chili, demonically pointy; two epicureans bite down like it's the hottest oath. Searing – from eyes to finger tips to every pore.
Sunset. The Heath. Picnic on the grass. I watch as you charm my friends in your button-down shirt and faded jeans. Graceful, suave — Tony Bourdain aura.
In the garden of Tufnell Park Tavern, verdant planters are all around, dewy from the rain. Pink sky conjures a rainbow in the faint wisp of cloud. Fairy lights blink,
then all at once alight.
Living in Bali as a kid, you once found a snake in your closet. A snake with an appetite for 12-year-old boys.
— Mid-gulping smoothie from a hedgehog mug, I laugh so hard, thankful the snake didn’t take you.
In the height of summer, happiness is effortless: in moments next to you, your arm pulling me close.
