by Donald Max Caven and his Mom
in the waning days of summer
August 17, 2009
Oh, Challah, you wait for me
As my fingers fiddle with plastic parts.
A dry gooey-ness awaits me,
Twisty, mouth-watering, sweet, buttery,
My mouth will explode when I fill it with you.
Your yellow air-pockets pull away in layers,
Each to dissolve between my teeth
Like night fading into Don.
I beg for thee like a panting dog.
I scoop my cocoa with your tender crust,
Breaking the thin skin of tortured milk.
Oh Cocoa, painfully hot but incredibly sweet.
Cold thermometer spoon, a cooling pool
For the windstorm of my lips,
Which vaccuum you to my eager tongue.
I have no patience for you, spoon!
My straw makes whirlpools as I drink
An inch with each sip.
Oh, Nectarine, I can't eat you!
You're so perfect!
Round, porous, red-rimmed, shiny yellow meat,
Then again...
Slippery sweet, juicy...
Gone.
Oh, Challah, why are you so perfect?
I'm so sorry when I've devoured you.
