The fruits of another day
                     have been mashed up
       by my mother's
                treasured mortar and pestle.

   I will gather the
         crushed seeds, and    sprinkle
               them with care
  upon the freshly baked

           fluffy, strawberry
                          faith cake

          of which I will slice
                      and feed my family,
     and all of those
             wishing for a bite of love.

                    I will take the
                             sunny, sweet juices,
             drop in a handful
                          of humble tea leaves,

   pour in half a cup of
               fervent longing's
fuzzy, pink lemonade,
  
          a generous amount
  of golden, savory
                 poetry syrup,

and three spoonfuls      of my grandmother's  
            lovely minty remedy
        for calling forth
                           the spicy, sultry desire to live.

      I take my
               Lush Life's Drink
         into the Purple Midsummer Cafe,

   and quench the thirsts
                of translucent, paper people
  tolling throughout
endless
          days and nights,

          solving countless
                      math & society problems,
  writing novels of
      insecurities, acceptance,
& hope,
   
         and every evening,
all gathering at
       the Purple Midsummer Cafe

to faithfully consume    
my
     Lush Life's Drink,

          paying up the small fee of
  a tender smile or so,
         a warm enveloping hug,
                  a handshake of
               gratitude & humility.