This poem is about how much I love pasta. (No, it is not.) (But it could be, because listen : I love pasta a whole fucking lot.) The word “chore” always makes me think of the song Stay (just a little bit more) by The Dø, which I hadn’t listened to in over ten years until I wrote this poem. 🙂
running my hands under the water counting down chores left to do I ask myself was I in love with you then last time I cleaned this plate climbed those steps played that chord cried on this page watched the sun set through my bedroom window was the thought of you unbearable did it soothe the aching pit inside me begging to see the exact shade in the pigment of life