Kouign-Amann

Señior Bustelo, upon his final days,

Thought to which Goddess would he last like to play.

Without a doubt in his mind,

Comes Empress Kouign-Amann,

The most decadent divine of his time.

Philadelphia the scene, January 2025.

---

I stumbled upon this little dream,

A shop called Machine,

Operated by meticulous queens,

Who knew exactly what this coffee bean needed,

Like a pastry, refined and radiating

Aromatic dopamine,

My palate perfectly aligned.

This was destiny, it was cloud nine,

Serenaded by the moonshine,

The way I knew she was mine,

Sunlit, caramel eyes, 

One sense of her scent,

I was crystalized, like the sugar

Sprinkled on her fine.

It was evident, that she was heaven-sent.

Golden-brown irresistible confection,

Yearning for delicate affection,

One finger teased her complexion.

Though I knew she was sweet,

She was hardened by convection,

Defiant in her nature, apprehensive.

Only yielding all her glory

To the one wielding absolute attention,

Appreciating fully her story.

As she has many layers to peel, 

Every single flake crackling with zeal.

With one taste of her flesh, 

I was ready to kneel.

A labyrinth of laminated buttery caress,

Luxury is all I could feel,

As she continued to undress and reveal

A creamy coating of conceal,

No longer under duress,

Such a beautiful ideal,

As I melted in her chest,

Soaking in surreal.

This is far from acquiesce, 

But rather love at its most real, 

The flavor lingering forever, 

Until the day that I rest,

My cafecito will never know another best.