Breakfast

I feast upon a vat of honey that was stolen from the hives of the Palawan Rain Forest.
It was created by the labors of a hundred worker bees collecting nectar from flowers all across the unforgiving wilderness.
It was meant to feed the young bees.
But this morning it feeds me.

I crack open this soft-shell and extract the carcinogenic yellow. I devour the white, creamy & soft, boiled to perfection. With a subtle jolt of salt, the cream comes alive with taste.
Warming my tongue with even soft goodness.
It was meant to grow a young feathered baby.
But this morning it feeds me.

I slurp on this glass of freshly squeezed orange juice. As sweet and tangy as oranges can be.
The sweet citrus juice cleanses my soul, nourishing my body, exciting my palette. An intense explosion of flavor in my mouth
It was meant to grow a new tree.
But this morning it feeds me.

by Warren Augustus de Guzman

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