countertop

<p><strong>countertop</strong></p> <p>dark surfaces don’t reveal the mess. her own words, crumbled in their staleness and left again to redirect my demeanor. i mean, can you believe her? the unfortunate answer yes. roiled within thunder, there has always been someone to rob the fork from my tongue. lashless and listless, anger withdraws and i stand like a beach with no tide. her lips churn about a better season but the seashell to my head echoes lie.</p> <p>so take the spray and wipe it.</p> <p>and i do with clear eyes hiding a dirty handprint pressed upon the cloth.</p> <p>#barflypoet</p> <p>#josephapinto</p> <p>www.josephpinto.com</p> <p>© Copyright Joseph A. Pinto. All Rights Reserved.</p> <p>*</p> <p>'From My Front Steps,' 'Scotch and Scars' and 'A Distilled Spirit' poetry collections available in paperback and ebook on Amazon.</p>