There’s an army of square lights on the ceiling.
My name is a sandwich here with no filling:
just two thin slices, side-by-side, both white.
I’ve longed continental tastes my entire life.
Even to dip my bread in egg would suffice…
Well, Christ, I’ll take a trip to the bakery later!
A crustier loaf would remain in the teeth
or perhaps granary could help plant a seed…
En route, there’s a biblical treat in the street.
It’s a mouthful from the Mahershalalhashbaz
company. They’re rebranding after selling
handmade wooden frames for a decade.
And in dense writing their message eats at me…
That night, I immerse my head in June’s still air,
where all the moonlight is hidden behind a tree.
