Saucy Stomachs

Some days I waked reduced, as if, in sleep through a process of time and heat, my fluid parts have been boiled out of me. The remaining sauce, thick with the weight of bubbling departure, sticks cloyingly to any solid morsels, as a child clings to a mother in a busy shop. I coat the morsels, drown them in the honey of my substance. It's the grief for my lost water that drives me to envelop. I am a widow to vapor and all salt in weeping.

Haiku of the Day:

Drying fingertips

crack with red and white fissures

that wail like infants

Today's Drawing (inspired by the word "Dyspepsia" from MW's word of the day. It means poorly digested or in bad taste.)

Today's "365" Project (Make something natural look like something unnatural.)
"Right Angles"