I want a loaf of bread.
All the slices are white nuns,
praying to be butter-slathered,
as I want love on both sides of me,
as I want to be as warm as Sunday morning toast.
I want to share toaster empathy,
giving me sunshine sonata
emptying into a glass I drink from.
Peanut butter, jelly, cream cheese
are irritants against the grain.
I want the loaf,
the whole loaf,
and nothing but the loaf.
And it is you that bakes me.
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