Fried Morels & Fine Hotels
I recognize my writing can be saturated with metaphors, and I thought about simplifying it; making it more digestible, but I think I’d rather attract the type of reader that masticates the textures of my words, savors with each bite the words peppered with imagery.
I’d rather a palette that can roll over the r’s in “fucker”, just as easily as it licks the lace and alliteration off a soliloquy.
Give me a range of thought.
Give me simple ideas and feelings, love & rage, and dice it so finely, the hidden notes beneath - secreted secrets - glaze the spirit, we roll off the table, breathing heavily, heaving, sticky.
Full.
Give me the questionable taco stand at midnight with the buzzing of the lights, flickering like my hunger, laughter reverberating over a table that moves too much. Moves me just enough.
Give me the mahogany quietness, my silky skirt limply clinging to my thighs, a candle dancing to the sound of pouring wine, a soft light veil over my veal, and a marbled steak searing and making me sear.
Hungry.
I recognize my writing can be saturated with metaphors.
Choke if you must, but I…..
I write.
These pictures are from the cutest Summer Moon I’ve found whilst exploring. It’s in (Old Town) Buda, Tx.
Credit: Title of this musing is from Tyler Childers song, “All Your’n”
