Omelette and Hash Browns

The omelette casually stares back with crisped hash brown eyes.

I hesitantly reach for my fork, mortified that I would consider profaning such a delicate sunshine smile with burnished steel prongs. Yet the sizzling fragrance of slightly singed eggs swirls like cirrus wisps to my receptive nose and beckons invitingly at my salivating mouth. I waver a moment more before the rolling gurgle of my stomach forces my hand.

Demure saltiness flows like a creamy summer sun onto my yearning tongue. Gushing tomato slivers flood my mouth with effervescently sour murmurs. Sliced mushrooms peek like supple gray toques that explode into ebullient bubbles of flavor. Volatile trees of broccoli conjure blinding images of languorous summer days in feathery-dewed meadows, perturbed only by the gamboling of zephyrs mirthfully tickling and—

A glorious medley of epicurean bliss.

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