We nibble at the frosting,
how sweet it remains
while the bodice grows stale
from our forgetful neglect.

The previous night’s shenanigans
led us to the kitchen.
Starving and craving sweets,
we devoured it from the pan,
cutting the bites with forks,
laughing drunk between nibbles.
Blurred stories of conquests,
the stupidity of partners,
and memoirs of our youth
weaved between each mouthful.
We forget our normal barriers
and giggle through our secrets
as if they’ve already been told.

Now, morning munchies
cause us to snack on crumbles
and contorted wholes
remaining in the messy pan.
We piece together memories
over the leftover sweets,
as if it holds our secrets
that we don’t remember spilling.