Fond-Due

Like a liquid of possibilities . . we find ourselves in the whirlpool of crossroads.

Gettin closer, the swirl ends and off we are to each ends of the pool

Running and rotating each other, we see yet it is only when the spoon is dipped and rotated, only we can get back to the whirlpool of fondness

A sudden dip can abruptly stop the greet, but hey . . . only a cruel would dare to do such things

Served hot . . . such bond should always kept this way, for coldness it the sign of being thrown away

Melting like cheese . . . the sweetness must be preserved in anyway, for it keeps the smile awake

The fondness of touch . . . is due closely, as far away ness cannot help the ending swirl of fondness . . .