“TERRYCLOTH ALARM CLOCK”

Her tiny, short-lived nibbles
running laps on his fleshy course
were puckered golden squares
filling in with maple syrup.
All his burnt, uneven edges
slumped beneath her breath,
as his body continued crumbling
in the shadowed lights of 6AM;
His Belgian abdominals hardening.
Suddenly and without warning,
the egg timer sprang.
So in a hustle, she swooped off
the ready waffle from the griddle—
painting on a fresh coat of batter
and pouring herself
a steaming cup of coffee
like an ancient roman fountain.
One minute on,
sizzling and tempting–
the morning ritual continued
until all the hot, bare bodies
got off and were served,
slathered by butter,
powered by sugar,
and born for her mouth
to summon with hunger.

narrative poem written on 11-10-2011 by: on mattkane.com
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