I am the butter,
left out in a dish,
unextraordinary
in many regards.
Most People don't care,
until suddenly they do.

Its okay then to
spread me thin,
stick a knife in me again
and again,
scrape and smear me,
I seep into the cracks,
soften the scratchy parts,
radiate warmth,
Toasty.

I'm lovable after all...
right?
but only for a time,
then leave me,
until the next use.
Take and take
till there's nothing left,
Savor your bites,
It will be the last of me.

When I was with you,
I was sent back,
into a capsule of time,
where the world was
once devine,
I was younger,
for an evening,
less jaded,
easy breathing,
heart felt healed,
my soul felt ​seen,
was it all real?
Or just an elaborate dream?