The Art of Artocreas-NaPoWriMo-Day 6

It is a religious ceremony,
cutting the shallots into
small eyes, the celery
searing in the sea green
drops of peas, a teary
tang at the top of the
broth of chicken pot pie,
or perhaps its more intimate,
with the butter coating my fingers
and my thumb reaching into my
mouth to circle around the richness,
and the milk dripping off of my chest
until I’m translucent, simmering under
the sealed edges of a thick crust called desire.

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