Spread

Your love is like cold butter; I am the knife. It will not spread will not move it’s hopelessly stuck. Obviously, as a knife, I have no need of butter. But look! Just over there! A hunk of bread! I’m quite sure that bread would go really, really well with some butter. It looks positively lonely, just sitting there on the cutting board. Can’t you see it? I’m one for sharing, you see, especially when it comes to things of which I have no want. So please. For the love of that baguette, just go make nice. I’ll even help, smooth things over. After all, that’s what knives do. Besides cut. (But I’d really rather not introduce you to the sharpness and serration.) So: butter, meet bread. Bread, meet butter. And maybe we’ll leave the utensils out of it.