Tonight, I wish I never ate dinner. You left
them not in a jar, but in a bowl in the shelf

that you kept after snacks. I never even
remembered they’re there until I got hungry

while staying awake and writing about you
and your sweet smile. That’s how I forget

how bland work could get – perhaps bitter
perhaps sour – perhaps that dinner I cooked.

I went back to my computer, crumbling
over the cookies crumbling on the keyboard.

Among all opened tabs, I went on to finish
what I’m posting. I closed all others.

This cursor blinks with me. I type how there’s
nothing else I can say. Perhaps, bake more?


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