an ode to kaeng khiao wan [backdated sept 25th]

a coriander kiss
i cannot have your children
if you carry that strange soapy gene
we will make meals
once thought of as exotic
now just another tuesday night
basil and curry pastes
and careful poaching of
once pink, now white, soon green
of the palest hue
perhaps sickly
if not drowned in coconut
floating on a jasmine bed
of tiny grains of rice

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