You expected a girl, your own notion of femininity. You expected me to laugh, to talk, but only in bubbles, Wonka’s fizzy lifting drink. You expected to float on my wiles I’d heft you up while you cruise. Well, you get nothing. You lose. Good day, sir.
Soft, circular, fluffy delight. Euphoric taste, ******* to the mouth. Heart pounding, as Aunt Jemima lathers her essence all over this treat. Fresh bright fruit falling onto this plate as if it were sent from the heavens. An earthly treat from Mother Earth, guaranteed to fill your satisfaction. Savouring every bite, tingling all your senses. A meal that could tickle ones soul and enlighten their day. Pancakes, a synonym for yum, the definition of bliss.
I bought a perfect pineapple It screamed of being sweet. It’s burnt orange blush, It pale green spiked leaves. To try and preserve such beauty, Would bear sour fruit. To fight for its posterity when it will not fight too.
So I lopped off it’s head Carefully removed its fruit and Casually discarded its core And satisfied my craving Done before you begin. Safe.
Live for the day. Trust no one with your heart. Seize what happiness you can make for yourself.