But to have ones heart saturated with all the best ingredients.

Chocolate powder, swirled into crystal cubed, brown sugar bumps.

Mixed with chilled white milk and

Stirred inside endless clarity;

Only to be baked into a soft edible fever.

Coated with crying, frothed cream,

just happy to be apart of something.

Half-done, half- raw, half-baked, all-together.

Dreaming of filling in the space  of unsealed lips.

If for nothing else, isn’t this why we exist?

 

 

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