I make my way through the squabbling blankets, the muffins call my snapping teeth.
With zeal, I drink down the garlic lobster, the hunger is quick to leave my belly.
But the feathers in the pillow call me back, I bridge the distance to my bed like a bull in the banks of wall street.
I am reminded of the bristling muffins…

Casually walking over the bridge I watch the ice that blankets the river and bristles in the rocks. The lobsters feather along the bottom of the squabble, but fresh bull and muffins in the hunger of my belly would taste better.
My teeth would also make quick work of the garlic, drinking down the juice.

Quick drinking has once again led me to the bridge.
Below the squabbling river bed, the leaves sink like feathers.
I throw in the garlic lobster, my hunger is sated.
For a while I consider one more of the bristling muffins, but the fat bull belly of over-eating keeps me away.