Munching on slices of cranberry bread,
I ponder on the cranberries in my bread of life.
The tongue-tingling asinine sting.
Bittersweet, but momentary.
The twinges of pleasure.
The ting as the berry bursts under white horses.
The watering. Of eyes.
The prick.
The grimble-grumble.
I close my eyes.
One. Too. Free.
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