the delicacy of the ego

spread thin on a water cracker,

served with cocktails of fresh cane juice

and uncommon bottles of bitters.

the cracker’s crunch

a percussive counterpoint to

the dulcet baritone professions of passion,

pieces and bits of the cracker fallen to the floor,

soaked in a bit of oil from the ego paste,

now to be incorporated into the hardwood

via leather soles and colorful flats.

consumable, combustible, fragile as a fish egg,

cured and preserved for deft consumption

a string of fancy footwork and laughs

and glass refills

having made its swift redistribution.

a dollop from the next hand,

perched on a spoon,

hovers over the waiting cracker.