toast sans butter.

ideally, my body would be that of

toast

sans butter,

my soul of

fluff

not illusions to a cutter,

my mind

a bath tub clean and pristine,

my countenance

dainty with a hint of

mean

marmelade on the side,

but only, darling, if you decide

for i am putty resting in your dry hands

as i melt like childhood's crayons

teach me, toast,

to be a bit lighter

teach me fluff,

to lose spite towards her

teach me bath tub,

to cry without water

so as to clean the places

that are too dark for public

marmelade on the side,

pecan ice cream in mind

my countenance sweet

like childhood's treats

and old age's defeats