Kindergarden
it was the kind of
white that
crayola had only ever dreamed of creating
it
smelled
sweeter than any
candy cane ever hung on a tree
it called to me
begged me to slide it through marker
stained fingers
clinging to the
roof of my mouth stronger than
peanut butter ever could
allowed its
minty goodness to last well into nap time
How I miss paste.