dear Universe,
Thank-you for EVERYTHING.
I love you.
Thank-you for EVERYTHING.
I love you.
Sunday, February 23, 2014
dear toast,
Pondering the allure of you makes me wonder why there aren't more poems written in your name.
Perfectly toasted toast, not to mention the buttery puddles contained there-on, borders on religion, doesn't it?
Isn't it easy to revere toast and the sheer delight of experiencing that initial satisfying crunch and the giddy knowledge there are many more bites to enjoy? Don't you just not even chew it's so good?
My dog Betty knows the sound of the toaster bell and will come in and plant herself at my side because she KNOWS I will ALWAYS give her a toast treat.
Yep. Butter melted in toast, ( which is what I called it as a kid,) I think it could be the greatest thing since sliced bread.
Pondering the allure of you makes me wonder why there aren't more poems written in your name.
Perfectly toasted toast, not to mention the buttery puddles contained there-on, borders on religion, doesn't it?
Isn't it easy to revere toast and the sheer delight of experiencing that initial satisfying crunch and the giddy knowledge there are many more bites to enjoy? Don't you just not even chew it's so good?
My dog Betty knows the sound of the toaster bell and will come in and plant herself at my side because she KNOWS I will ALWAYS give her a toast treat.
Yep. Butter melted in toast, ( which is what I called it as a kid,) I think it could be the greatest thing since sliced bread.
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