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The last Cold Cuts.
The last sliver of pancetta.
The last Sicilian olive.
The last crumb of feta.

Blue cheese, cool breeze, tight squeeze.

I look off into a Cinque Terrean sunset reminiscing of a warm mornings past where I made love under a slow rotating ceiling fan. Through the window, the sweet and sensuous scent of hibiscus languidly lilted along the summer breeze

A funeral of a relative twice removed I attended when a call I received

Baby, I'm pregnant

Funny that...

Millú 
Pjenné
River Yarra



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