Peanut butter only for me
on my soft bread, between two slices.
Most, maybe eight out of ten,
want jam or jelly, but not me. Please,
please let the taste linger peanut butter
for as long as the flavor will last.

Many might think I am extreme,
but I simply don’t want to distract
from the peanut butter taste.
Waste not your gelatinous jam.
I am not interested in soiling
my bread for the sake of fitting in.

Crunchy or creamy are okay.
Crust on or crust cut off works well.
I prefer no drink to cleanse
my palate from peanut buttered bread.
So please just keep your jelly to yourself.
The rest of us will eat just fine.

P.B. only for me today,
tomorrow, and the next day, as well.
We will get along just fine
in most all other aspects of our
life together, forever, my dear love.
Should you grant me this one politeness.

Dear Silk’s Brazilian Burger,

I quake at the smell of you. The fullness of your flavor excites every taste bud my tongue can muster when I take you in.

Mustard and ketchup, lettuce and bacon, American cheese, and, of course, a runny yolk fried egg on top.

A bun is only necessary so I can wrap my hands around you and pull you near and into me.

Medium well, pink in the middle, is the perfect way to grill you, my angus beef patty.

I hunger for you.

Play with my senses no more.

Let me have you.

At last you arrive at my table.

Fries on the side.

Xoxo