by Harrison Parks 

your face is like the author in Happiness:

only yours is rounder and prettier--
you are an improvement upon my favorite movies:
you are real and breathing and beating--

so i will scour for things:
things that you might want to devour
or perhaps imbibe--from tamales to dirty chai.
not just any tamales--

the kind of tamales one finds sold in coolers:
when drinking at just the right moment--
tamales that cost less than a dollar each:
tamales that are BBQ tamales, food of the gods--

and i run through the rain
of my imaginary world
where i deliver to you every
tamale you've ever wanted to eat.

plato's tamales. every ideal tamale
can be yours in my imaginary world:
the place where you and i exist
as more than a facade.

Read this poem and more in Harrison's ongoing project The Banter Ship

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