Mirror we're back here again
Fate has rolled with his icy cold knuckles
The summoning of our fateful intertwining paths
Like the sparrow who wrestled against lathes of gore
Across the checkered picnic mat eyes mauled with the utmost desire. I'd tell myself to help myself to a leisurely brunch but the sweet vanilla and baked short crust tempt even the most righteous saints of proper eating. Of course I had given up long before then.
Crackles of mellow pastry rolled by expert hands and baked in the scathing furnaces of some loving individual would soon disappear into the ravenous hole behind the teeth, which like a predator stalking for prey, was not yet satisfied. It longed with deep carnal desire, but it was time to tame this beast.