My Writing

You’re behind a glass case,

I see you, but we can’t touch.

Not yet, not without an exchange.

I smell the faintest echoes of your scent,

And it reminds me of our last time.

I long to feel your warmth again,

Taste you while you crumble.

Alas, you fall to the ground,

As those who are not worthy try to peck at your beauty.

They fly you away from me, never to return.

And again, I must meet you,

Behind the glass case.

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 - An Ode to a Sausage Roll

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