Tied up in pretty cellophane
shining sesame crowns
a treat you look
like Christmas food
or something from Austria.

But you and I know
That inside you are sucked dry
Inviting, coquettish, but hard as stone
No soft mouth pillows
Only hard edges.

You clang on the edge of the bowl
Refusing to sink into my soup

Then slowly
Lapping at your edges
Massaging and releasing the crusted grains
She seduces you to softness.

You dissolve, sinking, falling apart.
Only sesame tears mark your passing
into the murky depths
of pea and mint.


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