Orson Likes Eggs Benedict

The way the hard-yolk-colored
hollandaise joins
the shiny canary of the soft-yolk

Pink slice of pork, tastes
vaguely copper, blood-like as the
muffin soaks it and he sucks it
off the fork at the diner.

The perfect fusion of flavors,
colors like cotton candy, like
babies. His Edna doesn’t cook.
He can only be satisfied like this
away from home.

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Author: April Line Writing

Writing about whatever the f*ck I want.

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