Late Eggrolls

It's late for an eggroll but it's Sally's best time. It's dry but it's tasty and Sally; her dime. It's perched in it's baggie: white with a fold. A sleeve for a napkin, grease covered and bold. The weight of a dove. It airs to the table. A fragrance of oil. A crust for it's gable. A sauce made of plums. My eggroll for dipping. The puddle soaked baggie. A sauce wiped and dripping. A bite for the senses. My heart stopped to savour. A dance of my tongue and thanks for the flavor. A gift from dear Sally. This eggroll she pittied. Without asking money, my thanks that I'm pritheed.