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November 28, 2011 / Samuel DiPaola

Rice Krispies

I asked if she wanted pancakes, but she said no.
The syrup was not to her liking.
Truth be told, I preferred to lick it from her toes.
We settled for rice krispies ā€“ not exactly the same.
Morning light reflected off my cereal spoon,
and I was nearly blinded when the bathrobe slipped from her left shoulder.
I thought I glimpsed a view of heaven, if only for a brief moment.
Milk trailed down the corner of her mouth.
Tongue snaked out to catch stray droplets.
Our eyes met.
She ran the spoon around the edge of the bowl,
captured the last grains of bloated carcass,
and asked if she could have some more.
I poured what last I had, and smiled.

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