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  • I don't understand what it is that makes you so. I don't know if I like it. I poke at it. Like walnut's or onions or ripe runny brie. Or maybe cauliflower or tomato because they are the two things that I still will not eat.

    I want to break the bread of you. Quietly and with surety. Not neatly. I don't mind crumbs. With my fingers. Buttery.

    But I am not in charge.
    And that, I cannot swallow.

    Photo credit: Nucoa Margarine - no known copyright.
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