plane tickets, patron, abandon everything i own;
meet me on a polish beach, the water pink and gold.
late-dusk cafe dialogues, experiment new cuisine
but end up opting for mcdonalds when i see those arches gleam.
yellow harmless sheen, bright as shame burning
or even a righteous yearning that i resist within me.
mom and sister still mourn, the other side of the world
will still turn in unison with us. every distance i stretch,
like muscles in the flesh, will pump less and less
blood to build us for debriefings on the end.

monday fragrance
similar to the others, his haircut
similar to my father's. i enter the market
from an alleyway adjacent. read the paper, read the faces-
those peaches, i can taste them; they smell divine, so fresh.
i never did learn to cook well, could never make none for myself;
and i never did learn to love well, when it was the easiest thing to do.
seagulls swing from me to you, and fly those nascent miles

there's no going backwards for me,
now that you've stopped calling me each week or two.
there was only so much i could salivate
before temptation
would no longer make me wait.
the bites had sent a deluge
of juices pouring out my mouth,
dousing white,
european linen in bruise-
flavored stains.

now only my core, sucked-dry, remains.
here, My Dear, here it is
Last edited by SubwayToVenus at Feb 2, 2013,
Oh, you returned ! Hope you stick around again.

The flow was impecable. The rhyming was good, although it sounded forced at times; not forced enough to make me irk though.

Just wanted to let you know I was happy for reading something you wrote, and happy that it was good.
Hey, what's that song, it's like, there's music and then I think the chorus contains the word "the?" It's brand new or from the 90s or 80s or 60s or 70s.
The first stanza resonated in me like it was my own. Welcome to travel writing. Seems like you almost feel at home here. You pushed the boundaries of your comfort zone it seems to me. But you still relied on family. Until the end. Which is brilliant.

The second stanza is weaker, more verbose and abstract. I did not favour it, as for me, travel writing has a lot to do with the pace of the piece, the underlining rhythm and beat.
You lost what you had going in the first stanza, but I thought it was so well crafted that despite that chunk in the middle, you started somewhere good and ended somewhere different.

And that's what I love most about travel writing.
This is not a pipe