Shake

 Luring a snail from it's porcelain shell

Teasing it with the luster of a ripe, red cranberry

It peeks out from the rigid cowl of it's exoskeleton

Slowly it pours out at the speed of slime

Keeping a cautious eye

In a rough environment devoid of forgiveness

Having to consider

The vulnerable mercy in surrender of exposing such soft insides

The tempting glaze of the round fruit seduces

Lurching out of it's home in a slaw so sticky 

A cool wind tickles the spongy pores

So long since the last naked stretch

Snow sweeps down

Instantly enrapturing with winter's white chocolate mystique


It's just to bad

my friend

about the salt