Swirls of decadence dance in and about the nose of the bear,
who smells the baker's excellence.
"Her absence is my pestilence" thinks the bear.
"Those sweet scents would do me away in an ambulance" he thinks.

Given the chance, he'd take the brush from her hand into his meager claws,
and paint a portrait of him in her.
He'd accentuate his smile to show his bright grin.
He'd color his face outside the bounds to show his messiness.
Left up to him, the dim, grim hymn in his head would change the chorus from self doubt
to harmonies of carelessness and confidence.

Suspended, his thoughts diminish to silence.
"I do intend to forge a friend" he says.
"I'll ask to spend our time together in Zen".
What will she say to him then?