My Saying

There they were

Sandwiched between lined sheets of trees

Flattened like Crêpes

To preserve their wisdom

There they were

Sealed by thumbs

Pressed across the tops of five cent plastic bubbles

Preserved among the scribbles of ideas, nouns, and butter boxes 

There they were

Two sweet chocolate doves of foil

With velvety aphorisms stamped

Under their flesh

One of the once-crumpled silvery sages spoke thus:

“Love is always the perfect gift”

You then replied on a napkin:

“Love means learning to like you.”

The second shiny sage opined:

“Warmth on the inside can melt cold on the outside.”

I then replied:

That explains the lack of warmth in your home.

They only learned to like you after you were gone.