Kicking karate during caroling klaxons
late for a Kimberly.
Injured kites are still for keeps.
Kleptomaniac knights with knives for kneaded dough;
wives widowed over dough.

A kimono soaked in kerosene,
attempting to burn an orchid kingdom;
a wardrobe curiously in the sunset of the west.
K is for kingdom.

Ordering from a kiosk, chocolate Kit-Kats
bought for this boss.
K is romantic kills on kissed knees.
K is for kilos and Kleenex
for crying about the amount of those kilos.

Knobs not opening doors for jobs;
killing jars, we are American butterflies in killing jars.
K is for Kirlian and a photograph of kismet– wish we never met.
Kirk and captain, may they make it.

K is a knapsack of squashed kumquats.
Kilowatts entertaining a klutz in kipping lust.
Killing time. Killing self.
K is for Kanji writing in ketchup between language classes.

Kay is a kicker with good legs.
Kelp: a mermaid’s hair on the plate for self-help.
A kinky millennial joshing on a keypad,
jumping in khakis, and jonesing for kebabs.

K is for kidneys and kimchi in the brine.
K is for juvenile ashtrays made in kilns.


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