I introduced you to its sweetness
tart, as it lands on a layer of butter
melting, liquefying like your naivety
as it sinks and combines
with the churlish surface
of the bread,
staring at the pairing
like a jaded ear of corn
waiting to be plucked
from the earth,
from field to flour
yeasty dough
to the furnace of the oven
and back to the electric embers
of the toaster,
where you commune with preserves
and lessons on taste,
the soft, sugared rubies of the jam
know their place.