At times I feel my fridge should open up to infinity
Like some twisted Narnia wardrobe
The cool smooth of its plastic doors
Turning to beach sand
Or golden locks of hair between fingertips
A bright orange creamsicle lights up the dark on your face
A slow and lazy river
Dammed with colourful inner tubes
And bright red bell peppers
And somewhere else, under fireworks
The bittersweet taste of
Turkish delight and cigarette smoke
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