in the official formalized format of vegan cream chee',
with two kinds of sugar;
one caramelized, one powdered;
and a splash of vanilla-style soymilk;
and vanilla extractions by the teaspoonful,
with a little re-thickener added to it,
for a whipped wonderful texture and flavor for all our faces.
i doo-doo that unsimplified overcomplication-type sh!t.
what's up with peaches?
i mean, sure, they're wet and fuzzy...
...and that's pretty much always dope.
but peeled and pitted and put in a pot,
to make a syrupy jammie-jam jamboree of juicy fruity hottness?
that takes their infinite nature up a notch.
eleven is as eleven does.
too much makes it just right after all.
and with the newly-perfected pinch-pot pastry-makey packing
of cookie crumbs into muffin pans for ideal cups
of terrifyingly tartsy terrificness holding it down and filling it up?
what could activate the whole thing just a little teeny tiny baby bit more?
how about homemade raspberry fruit blops on top,
between the creme and the peach and the cookie?
that's what peach melba is!
vanilla and peach and raspberry.
check the melba-is-a-funny-name-type teleport:
i get busy up in this b!tch, kids.
Folk Life & Liberty knows no bounds,
and i'm just the type of fella who'll turn on the oven in ninety-nine degree heat.
hottness doesn't worry about hot weather and sweltering soaring temperatures.
it's not about being comfortable, ever.
it's only always about getting expert.
that's no jokes.
there is a purpose to all this treating.
a plea to the secret universal plan to give renewed purpose to my sweetness?
i've got sugar aplenty, like, for everyone....
...and no one.
hard styles abound, and hard times, too.
the heat may be affecting my lucidity,
and the humidity is adversely affecting my verses,
making it seem misspoken and broken,
words versus deeds in an averse and subversive series
of adversarial advances chock full of missteps.
at least there will tarts at the end of the day.
bright spots appear in the darkest skies;
never quiet, never soft.....