Served Up with a Glass of Milk

by Stephen Fuller

She reads about the history of butter,
or maybe the chemistry?
If her eyes lift up into mine,
Will the happy accident,
Accidentally inspire smoothness?

I retreat inside the coffee mug,
Hidden behind ear buds
Buried in my own Kundera.
How can I become so light in being
When this moment feels so heavy?

I want that butterfly to fly into my heart
From the pit where it mines dark coals
To warm the night with pitiable cries
I would flit and float to the flower
Sitting like an invitation by her ear.

Instead, two sticks and a cup of sugar
Brown and white, each. Stir the lumps out.
Flour and vanilla, soda and salt. Egg.
Cracked like me, my yoke in the bowl.
Add chips, I am nuts. Bake me, until sweet.

Written at the Go Dog Go Treetop Cafe with PoetGirlEm


One Comment to “Served Up with a Glass of Milk”

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