Pancake Lament

The thought of her comes slow like molasses,
like the amber hue of her voice.
Then the jelly of our happy times oozes into the night and glazes my soft skull.
Her transparent image permeates the bread of my body and sinks into the heart.
My heart responds to the false sense like a conditioned reaction and begins to salivate.

All night long I lie in bed with the silly but savory notion of calling her and inviting her to have pancakes with me in the morning, but then again, I think to myself, why would someone want to sit and eat pancakes saturated with despair. So, I sit alone in the nighttime and have my breakfast in bed.