i made mud pies
flung them at you
and laughed as
it hit you in the face
dribbling down
your cheeks
but your smile
stayed put.You are mine,
my pastry chef
and you knead
words around
my ravenous soul.You frost my scars
they’re now invisible
and I am once again
attractive, appealing.
You’re my pastry chef
my halfbaked savior
and through you,
I will rise.
“Nix on Hypnotricks” (1941)
Olive Oyl, Fleischer Studios