Peck of Lusciousness
My father is always harsh to my sister and I.
My dear God knows — he got nothing but brute.
The birth giver is long gone with some pulchritude goddess, fornicate, if I could say.
And there’s nothing that my sister and I could gobble aside from brute and grief. My, oh my — how wonderful our life is.
My God knows that my sister always crawls to my bed and mumbles “God hates us so much, isn’t he?” and also “I hope we could gobble meat that as luscious as our home was”
Maybe she’s right — and maybe, there’s something left in our home.
The sun starts to dim, lively smile carves it space on my sister’s face, as she gobbles her dinner.
“Oh, Ethan! I have never tasted something so luscious for the past 5 years! Where did you buy this? and how?”
“Let’s just say our father finally got his tenderness back. And oh, he’s not coming home tonight and the night after. Don’t wait up, okay?”
