Capturing the moment is impossible,
so she saviors it as much as she can.
It tastes tarty, and whimsical.
Like a walking daydream.
Aspirations arent sleeping,
but instead on a quest. Just like the
juices sliding down her chin,
dripping in between her breast.
Trying to run away from the
swollen eye. With only one second guess
at which bread crumbs to follow.
She goes toward the path with the most to offer.
Having a full stomach is always better
than starving