when Rhianna came to tea 

she came to my house for some home cooked food 
—she ate like a baby bird

–small portions 

–she even bought her own cutlery

–the tiniest fork I’d ever seen 

         the conversation flowed 

she touched me under the table

I blushed – after the meal she sang to me. I was far too polite to tell her she was no Nina Simone

the next day she wrote to a prisoner and told him about the smell of the flowers in her garden
she tried explain the taste of the ramen noodles she had last night
she described the wind and
she drew them a picture of a dog reading a book

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