Coffee
    Heath
        Bar
            Crunch
Will sabotage those taste buds,
Like Dublin and its Mudslides.
So blast off with that,
Fossil Fuel,
And don’t let me
Catch you.
‘Cause I’ll keep you,
My Maple Blondie.
I’ll capture you,
And hold onto,
Those Cinnamon Buns.
You’re the Crème Brulee,
Of Chocolate Macadamia,
And the Cherry Garcia,
In my every breath.
You’re the Chunky Monkey,
To this Chubby Hubby;
The Dulce Delish,
for this Americone Dream.

Can’t you see I’ve just got,
A sweet tooth for you,
And your Phish Food?
Your Chocolate hair,
Key Lime Pie eyes,
Strawberry Cheesecake lips,
And your skin is a delight,
Much like Vanilla Caramel Fudge.
Did Ben and Jerry create you?
Please tell me they did!
So I can eat you,
With my cup of Boston Cream Pie,
And I’d eat you all up, Well,
Everything but the…
Half Baked,     Karmel Sutra,
Which I’d lick,
Like a cone of Cake Batter,
And then dip into,
Like Cookies and Milk.

Imagine Whirled Peace,
On top of this Mudpie,
And then Split,
Like a Banana.
That’s the kind of Brownie Batter,
I’d stir with you,
And then add a scoop,
    Or two,
Of Turtle Soup.
And you would yell,
PISTACHIO PISTACHIO!
    Where for art thou pistachio?
And with a bowl of Peach Cobbler,
And a spoon of Vanilla,
I’d look at you,
    wink,
and offer you a pint,
of my Mint Chocolate Chunk.

They were every beautiful color the world had ever set right.

Red, Yellow, Blue, Green, Pink, Purple, Orange
All grown from the green and taught to worship the blue.

But how could I ever tell you what
I was worshiping?

You,
You flowers,
Six-handed-many-mouthed
Beings of impenetrable soul and ***** knee,
You,
Who that same day had only just let me show you how to make a mudpie,
You,
Who nearby looked on, disinterested, but I knew better,
You,
who held the shovel and a discerning eye.

You who I would rain for,
You who I would kneel for,
You who reminded me not to be so sentimental when
They're only flowers after-all.

Flowers planted carefully in my dry ground.

When I blink those flowers become forests and you run through them,
Barefoot and starry-eyed.
You forgot their source,
But it never
Really
Mattered,
Did it?

If you can, just find a way to let me know if what we really planted that day is growing.