Puddles of pancakes pooling together on my plate.
Liquid steam licks up their layers
and ascends from their summit.
Sweet syrup saturates their sarcous skin before
harsh silver splits their fluffy flesh,
tearing their tender terrain.
Molten milk fat slips from their tops,
soaking into the newly exposed wound.
Bits of their butyric bodies touch my tongue
and melt into my mouth.
Clouds of spun flour and fat,
each one falls to the same kismet,
until only streaks of sweet syrup remain.