She licked the frosting from her finger, sweet as a promise and twice as buttery. Maybe a cake, bouncy-ball giggling wobbly tower of cake, would appease him. Feelings bruised, salved with vanilla, massaged with cream. The entire house smelled of sugar kisses and apologies. How could he resist? Stand near the oven, melt—melt—stirring with attention, never stopping. The spatula carved the mortar of the frosting like a skilled mason, rebuilding a toppled façade. A sculpture, a shrine to his senses, prone before him: offering. Foregoing manners, she licked the spoon directly: sugar for her, too, wouldn’t hurt anyone.
There are these little teeny weeny cups of Haagen-Dazs salted caramel gelato that you can get that I adore. To buy a pint would ruin it. They are prefect the size they are. That's what Drabble stories remind me of and what's even better, no calories!
ReplyDeleteIf these little scribblings are your virtual gelato, I am truly honored - thank you Tome!
DeleteMmm cake.
ReplyDeleteI heard Homer Simpson's voice in my head…lol!
Delete