Poem: Culinary Love

We were never meant to be together.

I am a native. She came from beyond.

I am white. She is brown.

I am sweet. She is hot.

I am dry. She is not.

We were never meant to be together.

Or so they thought.

Without her, I am baked flour.

Sans me, she is ignored by all.

Despite the odds, forward we did go.

She ran through me with vigor.

As we drenched in steam.

Together we saw,

A great union taking birth.

It was culinary love.

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