"I love pancakes." I said.
"I love pancakes, too." She said.
"Please pass the syrup." I said.
"Here ya go." She said as she handed me the bottle.
"I need butter first." I said.
"Yes, melt the butter on the pancakes first." She said.
"I need a fork." I said.
"Oh, yeah, you do." She said.
She got up out of her seat,
went to the kitchen,
and returned with a fork.
I began eating the pancakes. The butter
had melted superbly, and she poured
the syrup carefully, and my gut
got full, and the sun was out
and shining through the window onto
our breakfasts as though
the 4th of July, Christmas, Thanksgiving,
and all the birthdays on Earth
were on our plates at the same time
and we were eating them
as one and they were
perfect.