When I think of my favorite words,
I think of
minarets spindling,
and
cards riffling,
delicious and pernicious loaves
of bread dwindling,
cloves and gloves that don’t fit perfect,
something etched in twisting strokes
upon a parapet,
anxious jetpack blues,
multitudinous hues,
revelations to lose,
coffee, pizza,
(intimacy?)
sex.
The Opportunistic Poet 