Cream

There’s a building the sun shines on
creamy
in the late afternoon.
I can see it from my balcony
where I sit reading.
And it makes me happy.

Then I bury my face
in my arm 
the fleshy part 
lying on the railing of the balcony.

This makes me happy too.
To taste my own substance.
How solid I am.
How real.
Creamy.

One clap, two clap, three clap, forty?

By clapping more or less, you can signal to us which stories really stand out.