CRUNCH OF A COOKIE

Real chaos makes no noise, it goes.. Crunch Crunch, more Munch.

The first time I felt war, knife's apart; my mother tried to outsmart my tongue.

She said 'Wait till I serve dinner' but my patience grew thinner.

Taking it outside the world of its jar, that one time, A cookie landed in my hand.

I realized the recipe was art, as chocolate never found a better match.

The smell was like Summer, golden brown made from butter.

The first bite was all things vanilla, Thus it swam in the corners of my mouth. With the long spikes of a whipping delight, came more sugary bites of fire.

Trapped in the clutches of my salivary, there was rivalry as chunks of cookies traveled north to south in my mouth;

Each tooth wanted to chew butter turned brown. I had found a treasure in a glass chamber; a good kind of charm. More Crunch, more Munch.

My tongue becomes a tourist when it senses the taste of you, for exploring your recipe is its favorite thing to do.

Oven-baked Surface; it is as the heart of noon My fingers dance to Ed Sheeran when it feels the Shape of You.

If a cookie had a dollar for everytime I called it a work of art it would be more expensive than Da Vinci's Mona Lisa. As an architect converges two lines to create a design so does the unity of sugar and butter make its flavor divine, A gleam of paradise.