My stove top is a scalding
temper; overflowing with
ferocious
boiled steam.
My vision is clouded but
I can still see
egotism dripping out of
his over-sized pores.
Someone gave him the body of
a man to hide in. When we
first kissed, his disguise was concrete, at least.
Now, I can see how heaviness
glazes over him, excreting from
inside out.
He is just a pig, with a
fat, round face and
short,
nothing legs.
He does not know that I know.
But he will.
He will know when stove top steam
becomes serene,
after
I thicken the repulsive cream of
his cowardice,
his fear,
his pretentious stench
and pour
it over his puffed-up
self-admiration, and melt
away his disguise.
maggiemaeijustsaythis 