I follow honey

It's that rough need to quarter lonely. I've built a house for my poor flaws, falling over balconies. A collection of threads in milk. A handbag of milk. You pass over your hand.

Here are the palms cupped forward asking for poplar trees upended. Here is the formal swinging gown cut open to reveal mismatched zippered fishes. Here is the curling herbal promising a mind's return. The clicking here how it frees me. These are four of the paired mysteries. The fifth is a swan.

I am in some place that was folded and placed in a corner inside me. Is it the peculiar angles that I am living in? Is it the fact that I have only two books? It's in the turn around the corner from the bedroom to the kitchen and it is on all the bridges. The objects turn back to look at you.

Here the laws fall out of paper cups of chocolate. I am stationed to the left of my bright company. If I were selling all of those things then I wouldn't have the kind to sell them all on. Corner-shops of marvelous eyes. Corner-shops of love. The inside of the air beckons.

Who knew that when she placed herself in the distant object she would grow larger.

Sarah Mirza has had previous work published in elimae.