Oh, dear cereal.
Whatever our souls are made of, yours and mine are the same.
So you’re chocolate and milk, but you feel like silk,
when you call by my name.
To the moon and back,
On the road, like Kerouac,
You are my perfect little cereal,
You’re like poetry, you’re Shakespeareal.
You’re my moon and stars,
and I know you live me scars
It’s too much sugar too endure,
But you’re so sweet, mon amour.
Why such a small box?
Why live me so soon?
You’re the sun to my heart
And the stars to my moon.
Every bite is paradise,
every spoonful feels like dreams
eating you is not wise
But I’m a fatty, so it seems.
Cheila Belinda Cruz