Yard Sale of Thoughts

Stalactite

growing towards me,

without aide of light,

a sharp blade

poised to slice

my merengue 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.

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