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The smell of youth, over the breakfast table.


Submitted:Mar 4, 2008    Reads: 107    Comments: 6    Likes: 4   


The morning butter

melts

The toast of life

still warm


Moments become liquid

slip from the sharp surface


As we exit youth

and the flour goes stale

We look to bake our

own yeast


Proud to exhibit

racks of toast in silver holders

Knowing they to will fall stale

and seek the recipe to reproduce


Moments remain solid

stranded upon the dry surface


I remember still

the fragrance of breakfast

Not just a memory

a treasure I hold deep inside


Moments again become liquid

slipping once again from the sharp surface





4

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