It was a cupped and caked coincidence
how she could captivate a heated room with her overflow;
her crisp lips' brimming capacity.
The last words to cross them,
a batter of over-whipped thoughts
that would tastelessly toughen if ever exposed to air -
but she'd spill ill measurements anyway
into silver hollows
sprayed with protection and flavor.
A greased burn,
floating in flute juice,
was the crumb in pink underpants.