I'll send them out tomorrow morning.
Crispy, chocolatey, with some warming,
they leave a shimmer of melted butter on your fingers.
coating your tongue in sugar and fat,
He's 31 on Friday, and I guess I can't really
call him my baby boy anymore,
he's a man with his own life, his own love,
his own apartment, job, friends, activities.
I'm a very small part of his life, maybe best
described as woven into his view of the world,
knowing he is always deeply loved,
that there are others less fortunate,
that his talents are great, but that there
is so much he does not know,
to practice humility and look for lessons
from others, from life.
And to enjoy these cookies, made with love,
sent with love.