crum-pets

crumpets

my tongue taps the palate

twice

two consonants

bounce

pounce

between my

lips

 

i sweetly formulate

the word and

it languidly

glides down

onto the plate

like butter

 

mewling in pleasure

the syllables

sink into

the miracle before me;

 

and under the sunlight

it’s color teeters between

golden hair and

creamy licks.

 

its edges break silence

crisply with

compliance

as teeth create

clean cuts,

and slice,

rip,

scratch it apart

like one of pavlov’s

dogs

 

mercilessly,

ceaselessly,

but with method.

 

and i’ll be left

with crumbles that have

nowhere left to go

like lost children in a

mall,

they desperately

recompose try not to

decompose

after a moment of trepidation-

i edge closer,

jaw slack,

sticking my tongue out-

they land on it quite

bluntly

like land mines exploding

into last flakes of

pleasure

 

… it’s gone

 

i guess i’ll toast another-

the butter’s out of the fridge

anyway

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