she was dessert

she was dessert.
not a meal.
a slice
of cake, a scoop
of ice cream.
she was
creme brulee
burned just so
to harden
its shell.
she was an eclair
waiting to
be bitten, a
brownie warm
uncut in the tray.
she was
dessert, not
a meal. and
it was never
going to be any
other way.