It is soft
It is spongy
The tickle of the thought is so
buttery
Sauvae- the initiations
Debonair-the delights
So velvety are the whimsies
The likes of the egg whites!
Sweet laden-the curls of roses
Being crushed with gentle moves
Flavors those clandestine
Plummeting the strife grooves
The creation thus uprising
Is beautiful although callow
My fantasies served as palate
Carved in cute Marsh mallows
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