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.
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