Saturday, March 12, 2011

Faithful Tart

it wriggled down.
the porcelain. 
crusted brown and glazed in jam.
it sat there, proud
stout and round
larger than it's place.
onto the crust
a bite, a mouthful.
faithful to the waist.
memories wake the concience;
yet, i smack away
the sweet on thumb;
weasel out the
final crumbs.
one more beneath
the palate, i crave.




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