Love in a Time of Chicharon

Crispness is a virtue.

Though it may mean getting cut,

Savoring the taste in our mouths is sublime.

Worth it.

It is a lover who cuts you

With words like cracked diseased skin

But feigned strength yields and releases

With generous soft compliance.

In the end.

After The End.

During your end.

It is all you have.

Memories of a cactus in your mouth.

And ashes of the fire that was once in the rain.

(I passed this for my Lit 14 and I'm posting it now while I have nothing else to post)