would you add a bit of water to me?
knead me, till i am smooth and pliable,
and allow me to rest, before you gently
sever me into pleasantly sized portions?
would you lay each of me upon the press?
between crackling parchment, between the
time-worn plates, and you’d give your weight
to the lever, and i’d give away my height.
would you heat cast iron beneath me?
so i could live a little, puff my chest
and improve my complexion, as you flip
and turn me, with care and abandon?
would you serve me warm? and hold me closer
than necessary, inhale the life you gave me?