White cheese, red tomato, and some green herbs
Delicatessen in the afternoon
when coffee stings the back of my
lips; lips suck at teeth; teeth
torture themselves into concaved
crookedness.

I used to lull myself into
a waking dream of you; sip
you like a fine eastward wind
in autumn when I had nothing
more to do then rest fingers inside
pockets, hid my face in abnormally
large sunglasses, order avant-garde
sandwiches and suck their taste in
slowly instead of you.