Yard Sale of Thoughts

Grow towards me
without aide of light,

stalactite,

sharp blade
poised to slice 
my meringue pie,
tangy stalagmite whipped 
fluffy and white by the slow
hands of time. 

After so many moons to
salivate and sigh,

Stalagnate!

The first touch of
you and I;
a millennium-long sweet tooth 
satisfied.

© 2026 | K.F. Hartless

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