I Love Bread
How I love thee. Filling, satisfying, suiting my craving belly whenever it may squeal, "Empty!".
Oh, how I love thee, slathered in butter, even strawberry jam. Melted oils simmering in your cracks, wafting delicious odors through jealous air to my questing nostrils.
I love thy every morph: sliced, toasted, focaccia, pancetta, braided, twisted, rolls, sticks, buns, hot, cold, fresh, stale, crumbs. I'll even eat thy mangled form after being squished into a peculiar pea-pod shape by the mischievous fist of a young charge.
How I cherish your inner variety: french, wheat, oat, sesame, white, pumpernickel, rye, sourdough, corn... Your expressive and accomodating self-perception is my inspiration, breakfast, lunch, dinner, midnight snack. And the tiny hours in between.
Bread, I do love thee, and though you love not my thighs & posterior, we always reach the happy medium and come to understand one another once again. Bread, I wish that you shall never leave me cold and empty in this grueling world. I do love thee.
Oh, how I love thee, slathered in butter, even strawberry jam. Melted oils simmering in your cracks, wafting delicious odors through jealous air to my questing nostrils.
I love thy every morph: sliced, toasted, focaccia, pancetta, braided, twisted, rolls, sticks, buns, hot, cold, fresh, stale, crumbs. I'll even eat thy mangled form after being squished into a peculiar pea-pod shape by the mischievous fist of a young charge.
How I cherish your inner variety: french, wheat, oat, sesame, white, pumpernickel, rye, sourdough, corn... Your expressive and accomodating self-perception is my inspiration, breakfast, lunch, dinner, midnight snack. And the tiny hours in between.
Bread, I do love thee, and though you love not my thighs & posterior, we always reach the happy medium and come to understand one another once again. Bread, I wish that you shall never leave me cold and empty in this grueling world. I do love thee.
By:
Yknot
Age:
22-25
,
Female
