His whole wheat heart made my chest rise

As his toasty arms held me tight.

He wasn’t like wonder bread, no.

The Pillsbury dough boy got nothing on him.

His clothes smelled like the small bakery down the street.

Warm, yeasty.

The croissant-shaped twinkle in his eyes

Made me feel as sweet as brioche.

He was the eggs to my flour,

The dough to my loaf,

The seeds to my everything bagel.

He is the best thing after sliced bread.